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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27347425">Silent Nightingale</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemiseye/pseuds/artemiseye'>artemiseye</a>, <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeonsatdawn/pseuds/pigeonsatdawn'>pigeonsatdawn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Purple Hyacinth - Ephemerys &amp; Sophism (Webcomic)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst, Arguing, Blindest Of All, Canon Compliant, Character Death, Crying, Death, Existential Crisis, Feelings, Fights, Gen, Introspection, It's about time that tag was added, Kieran Is Stupid, Lauren is Even More Stupid, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Mistakes, Monologue, Nightmares, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parallels, To An Extent, Unresolved Emotional Tension, William is Stupidest of all, a hell lot of them, a nonbreakup breakup, all of them - Freeform, based on certain theories..., but ffs stop repeating them, deep talks, enjoy i guess, everybody makes mistakes, it's kym loving hours 24/7 in this house</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 01:20:08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>46,793</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27347425</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/artemiseye/pseuds/artemiseye, https://archiveofourown.org/users/pigeonsatdawn/pseuds/pigeonsatdawn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>People don’t seem to notice the nightingale’s melodies, not until it stops singing.</em>
  <br/>
  <em>(Perhaps it is too late. They remember how the song sounds, but can no longer sing it.)</em>
</p><p>In which Kieran White, Lauren Sinclair, and William Hawkes fail to heed the consequences of their actions beyond that which is direct, and Kym Ladell is forced to pay the price.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kym Ladell &amp; Kieran White, Kym Ladell &amp; Lauren Sinclair, Lauren Sinclair &amp; Kieran White, William Hawkes &amp; Kieran White, William Hawkes &amp; Kym Ladell, William Hawkes &amp; Lauren Sinclair</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>125</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>87</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>We made the fic summary thirty minutes before posting.</p><p>Enjoy.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="timestamp">that night, 1 a.m.</span>
</p><p><span class="dropcap">L</span><span class="caps">awrence “Larry” George was the only person to remain unmoved when the gun shot rang, echoing the shabby room they called their station.</span> He was slouching on his chair, semi-asleep, a pen in hand that bled blue ink down the paper he was finishing on. “It’s not like anyone reads these papers,” he had been muttering to himself, just seconds before he felt drowsy and his vision blurred. </p><p>          There were two other patrol officers with him that night. Aidan Jung worked in the precinct twice as long as George did, the only one to stay as long as he did, working under the unrelenting (and, in George’s opinion, delusional) attitude of wanting to improve the conditions of the 6th precinct, a precinct as good as dead. He had ended up getting the night shift because he lost a bet among the other officers. The other, Zoe Morrison, was an unfortunate newbie, perhaps the only woman daft enough to have signed up for the night shift of police patrol, especially in this particular precinct. It had only been her fourth day of working when this happened, whereas it had been a week before George heard his first murder. By this point, he had been used to hearing gunshots in the middle of the night, and had gotten tired of the routine the officers did whenever they did happen to overhear a murder.</p><p>          “George! We’ve got to go!” urged Jung, pushing his shoulder so that his body was upright, handing him his gun. “The gunshot sounded close, they couldn’t have gotten far.”</p><p>          Still unmoving, George groaned. “It’s just about the thousandth time you’ve said that, Jung. Stop deluding yourself.”</p><p>          The apprentice, though much calmer than Jung himself, eyed her seniors warily. “So are we going to chase them out, or…?”</p><p>          “Yes, we are,” Jung hissed, but his eyes were darting around so shakily that it was hard to believe he was mad. George rolled his eyes. He thought it ineffectual to rush; he’d been in this situation countless times, hearing distant gunshots from every direction, and rushing out, only to find nothing—not even a body, not a single witness in sight, and <em> especially </em> not the murderer. All the officers <em> knew</em>, for a fact, that these gunshots were murders. And yet, the murderers keep slipping through their hands. For Greychapel was home not only to countless orphans, but to the syndicate that thrived in the slums, that bred the monsters roaming the streets of every other precinct in the pitiable city of Ardhalis. </p><p>          Greychapel was home to the Phantom Scythe.</p><p>          George was quite enjoying falling asleep—he could even feel the traces of drool on the corner of his mouth—but alas, he knew he had a job to be done. To be completely honest with himself, he wasn’t holding up with his job in the night shift because of moral responsibility or some bullshit the other two would’ve spewed. It was simply because he needed the money. Now, it would be a lie if he had not  considered joining the Phantom Scythe; it was no secret that working for the syndicate would land him at least in the middle class, socioeconomically speaking. The idea tempted him a little too often as he noted the decreasing number of orphans, knowing that they were either dead because the law couldn’t protect them, or they had been picked up by the criminals. But despite his terribly cynic nature, he wouldn’t have been able to live with the thought of making money off people’s distress. </p><p><em>           If only there was a better way to earn money without distress in any parties, including myself, </em> he thought to himself often, and again that day as he begrudgingly got out of his wobbly chair, taking his time while putting on his officer jacket and his mask. Grabbing the gun in Jung’s hand, he took heavy strides out the door, and the other officers followed suit. “From what direction did the sound come from?” he asked to make sure, because even if he had an idea (he suspected it came from the north, where many of the murders happened), he couldn’t completely trust his memory while half-asleep. </p><p>          “North,” Morrison confirmed. George regarded the way, despite it being her first ever murder, she was relatively calm and had her cognition running under pressure, and lamented over how such potency as an officer was being wasted in the dreary precinct. He made a mental note to suggest her to transfer to another precinct instead, because her talents would never be of decent use there, and George was tired of watching people come, only to leave eventually, out of sheer disappointment and built-up lethargy. Wasn’t that what everyone does? They come and leave when their interests are no longer aligned. </p><p>          The three split up to search the northern part of the precinct, George taking the routes in the heart of Greychapel. He didn’t bother putting much effort in looking, walking just as slowly as he would in his patrols, but he still at least flashed his torch in every direction, just in case he could find a dead body. Perhaps, if anything, the only thing that kept him working in the precinct was because he found it sad how these people simply died, their bodies gone forever, and their loved ones did not even have a body to bury. He worked hardest when it came to finding the dead body, so that at least if they were to die, they could be honored to an extent. After all, that was the only thing he could do for those poor souls.</p><p>          And perhaps today was his lucky day—unfortunate for the dead person, but fortunate for him—for he was beginning to register the sharp scent of blood. The air smelled like the acid rain that fell last night, but it wasn’t enough to diminish the acrid smell of the gunpowder. He must be close, he thought. Finally, after a long time of futile patrols and fruitless searching, he could actually have woken up to a legitimate reason, not a false alarm. He began to walk with more caution, making sure he illuminated every dark corner of the alleyways. However, he halted—he heard the sound of incoming footsteps.</p><p>          His blood chilled to the core. Was that the Phantom Scythe assassin, cleaning up their mess? Was he going to die today? Fears plagued his thoughts, and his palms began to sweat. </p><p>          His stupor was interrupted by the crackling noise from the two-way radio. He blinked, regaining his focus, and brought it up to his ear slowly, fearing that any little sound would attract whoever was there and end him altogether. How foolish it was to be afraid of simple mere steps, but alas, that was what Phantom Scythe had wreaked upon the people. It was Morrison on the other side, though for some reason she sounded much clearer than one should sound on the radio: “I found a body. Uh, I’m not sure where I am, but it’s close to the river and two blocks from the church.”</p><p>          It took a while for George to register what she said. When he realized it, he groaned, mostly out of relief. He didn’t bother replying to her through the radio, walking directly and way more confidently to the location of the body. “You scared the crap out of me,” George admitted. “I thought your footsteps were the assassin’s.”</p><p>          Morrison gave him a weak smile. “They’re probably long gone, aren’t they?”</p><p>          George inspected the body. It belonged to a young woman, seemingly around the early 20s. Normally he’d first try to figure the possible identity of the person, however it was hard to take note of anything other than the brutality of the murder. They found that the gunshot hadn’t been the cause of death after all; if anything, the woman was the one to have shot it. They knew that for sure, not because of the gun still in her hand, but because of her head, quite literally detached from the rest of her body. </p><p>          Miserably, George spoke to the radio: “Jung, you might as well join us. You haven’t got a chance.” </p><p>          He wasn’t just speaking out of experience, his natural cynicism, or the sheer atrocity of the scene ahead from him. George could tell that the murderer wasn’t an idiot, but an assassin used to this—a decapitation this clean could not have come from an amateur. Not only did it <em> look </em> as if the murderer had time to clean up the mess of the murder, the fact that they hadn’t heard a single scream from the woman meant that it was quick, an act done by someone with the physical strength and precision. He must’ve been experienced enough to calibrate their aim with her unique physical characteristics, to have reacted in a short time, assuming she shot the gunshot they heard. <em> Definitely and unsurprisingly </em> <em> the work of a Phantom Scythe assassin</em>, the first thing that came to his mind. Every single detail of the act defined a professional. George felt regretful, for the first time in a while—he wondered that, if he hadn’t been so lazy as to go do his duty, if he had been quick to his feet and followed the sound of the gunshot as he should’ve, maybe she would’ve been alive, or at least they would’ve caught the murderer escaping. </p><p>          He sighed, running a hand through his hair. Morrison looked like she was going to vomit from the sight. “At least we know she died a quick, painless death,” George tried saying, for any consolation. He took a look at the victim’s face, eyes closed seemingly as if in a peaceful slumber, mouth hung slightly open, perhaps from when she took her last breath of surprise. He hoped that it was true when they said there is peace in death. </p><p>          Jung came soon, and immediately reported the body to the local forensics. Morrison, who was feeling quite nauseous, squatted on the ground, her head in her hands as she tried to massage the stress away. George stood with arms crossed, looking at the body from a distance, while Jung looked around to figure out the details of the murder, aside from the obvious cause of death. George, who was an observant officer by nature, somberly supplied: “I don’t recognize her, but she probably isn’t from this precinct. She looks well dressed, and her face doesn’t show much signs of struggle you get from living in the poorer districts, or distress whatsoever. Judging by her possession of a gun, she may have been a Phantom Scythe member gone rogue, or an officer from another district investigating them. I hope it isn’t the latter…”</p><p>          “It is the latter,” Jung muttered, uncharacteristically quietly, his voice soft as a whisper. If it weren’t for the quiet night, George probably wouldn’t have caught it. “I’ve seen her, only once before, but it’s quite hard to forget a person like her, in this shithole of a city we live in. She’s a police officer from the 11th precinct.”</p><p>          “What was she like?” Morrison asked, her voice also nearly gone. George looked over to make sure she wasn’t on the verge of tears, because if this was how she reacted to <em> one </em> murder, he wasn’t sure how she’d keep up with patrol duty in this precinct.</p><p>          Jung said, “Unnaturally bright. It’s hard to stay positive when you have monsters killing people every other night, and yet she seemed to be so fearless, careless of the demons strolling around the city, laughing even louder that I worried she’d attract the murderers at one point. She—the sergeant helped lighten up the somber moods of the other officers—we were patrolling a night event that time. It’s a shame that she had to go. I can’t imagine how her coworkers would react to the news, let alone her family.”</p><p>          George looked away from the body. Suddenly everything felt worse. The deserted streets of Greychapel had been a sole witness towards another brutal murder. “If she is as you say, then at least she died with honor.” Death by decapitation, after all, was death of the highest honor—at least at one point in the past. He only prayed that her death would not be in complete vain, that for every blood spilled, they could be one step closer to changing the situation in Ardhalis.</p><p>          It was wishful thinking, but the sight of her peaceful complexion in eternal peace compelled him to wish anyway. Peculiar, how she had such a wondrous effect, even in death.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hello! Thank you for reading until this far &lt;3 This is a collaborative work between elle #1 and elle #2 (though, mostly it’s elle #1) to satisfy our PH angst needs. This is our baby that we created from scratch, and we hope that you will enjoy this! We had so much fun creating this fic. </p><p>We were planning on writing a classic mystery/poetic prose (where the young prince was stolen—don't ask), but then 1. elle #2 likes kywi a lot, especially Kym, and 2. elle #1 had just written an essay on why she'd choose to kill Kym among the four main, so this fic is born.</p><p>This fic is canon-compliant, and is set some time after the current point. We scheduled the fic to be updated every two days, and it has been fully planned out, so don't worry! It will definitely be finished. </p><p>Feedback is always welcome! Do tell us your thoughts and opinions about this in the comments down below.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Unarchived History</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Kieran White had never been good at keeping his promises, anyway.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="timestamp">three days before</span>
</p>
<p><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="caps">here were innocent secretaries, diligently typing up work in the office, nine-to-five everyday.</span> There were crooked officers who bribed their way in the ranks and evaded the law by being within the law. There were suspicious higher-ups with intentions unclear: personal, or even part of a larger organization. Then, in the midst of everyone, there was a man in the precinct under the guise of insignificance, sent by the demon of the hell to which he was chained, all the while working his way to unveil the very same demon, teaming up with a fellow officer to do so, hiding in plain sight.</p>
<p>          Kieran White’s situation was nothing short of complicated, and more often than not, it became hard to uphold all his different facades.</p>
<p>          Perhaps it was because he’d so long since lived any life resembling normalcy, but he found it hardest to act as the law-abiding citizen, the persona built under his own name, the man with a menial task. It could also be the simple fact that as an archivist with a blank slate, there was still a risk of getting caught for being either the Purple Hyacinth or half of Lune, neither of which would end up well—or worse, they discover that he was both. He didn’t even want to begin thinking about that. Moreover, people feared both the Purple Hyacinth, for very obvious reasons, and Lune, for their daring actions and how, in spite of all that, they hadn’t been caught up to the present time. Of course, this too was tied back to him and his mission as the Purple Hyacinth, to find and kill Lune—he prospered as Lune by staying alive, and in turn, sacrificed his nearly perfect track record as the Leader’s best puppet. While he stalled, he also had to put Lune’s normal activities to a halt, not that they could do much with such a shaft in their relationship. All of the three jobs he had affected one another, and at this point, he could only delay things for so long—he had to take action before he started facing the consequences from any sides.</p>
<p>          Understandably, he felt the immense pressure, which further impacted his condition. Time, unfortunately, wasn’t on his side. Even though he’d previously managed to somehow maintain at least a decent health, he could no longer do that these days, getting less and less sleep by day, eating only when he thinks about it—which was almost never, because when you see blood in your every move, you tend to lose your appetite. Kieran White saw blood even where there wasn’t blood. Perhaps it wasn’t blood; perhaps it was just Lauren Sinclair’s head constantly on his mind. But thinking of Lauren Sinclair also led to blood, because he could never rid himself of that one catastrophic mistake, that one slip-up that ruined everything.</p>
<p><em>           All the more reason to keep these identities separate</em>, he thought to himself in gloom, watching the sky matching his mood as it poured, soft sounds of rain splattering against the roofs echoing the room.</p>
<p>          He paused his endless contemplation, pouring the brewed coffee in the coffee mugs. With a heavy sigh, he dragged himself to the office, with the tray of coffee mugs in hand. He found that the office was relatively quiet today, even though it was already 10 in the morning, and it was soon to be patrol time. It didn’t take long for him to figure out why: Kym Ladell, the sergeant who kept the entire precinct on their toes, wasn’t in the office, so everyone was working quietly on their own desks.</p>
<p>          Normally he’d try to appear a little brighter, but Kieran himself was tired, so he did his rounds with a small smile. He offered the officers coffee, beginning from the secretary, who was closest to him, then the Lieutenant, who returned a smile just as weak and weary, before arriving at Lauren. She looked like there was barely an ounce of life left in her, he could show her body to the Leader and he’d probably believe that Kieran had killed her. And of course, he worried about her.</p>
<p>          Another problem Kieran had never expected to have encountered, that was. Never before in the past seven years would he imagine ever having to care and worry about someone else, not after having done the things he’d done. And out of anyone he could’ve cared about, Lauren was the hardest to care, because she didn’t allow herself to be taken care of.</p>
<p>          With this in mind, he simply handed a coffee to the officer, who had a stressed expression sewn on her face. She glared at him weakly when he placed the coffee mug on the table, but when he said nothing to her, she went back to her work, not even so much as a “thank you”. </p>
<p>          They were beyond words, anyway. Despite the tension that still existed between them, they were far more understanding in respect to their shared responsibilities in the upcoming cataclysm. They had been working together last night as well, scouring the streets of Greychapel again, and upon finding nothing as usual, they had made an impromptu detour on their way home to the docks. Lauren had deduced that there must be an entrance to the underworld in the docks, since that was where the shipment was supposed to arrive. Kieran <em> did </em> try to convince her to leave that for another day, but even he knew that they were running out of time, so he agreed to search the docks for a while. They found a few secret passages, but nothing that led underground, so he was planning to do some more searching himself later that night. Which, in all rationality, wasn’t a good idea in any way, since he was running on two hours of sleep.</p>
<p>          But he had to do this. It was only a matter of time before something happened. If anything, it had been too peaceful for a while now, he pondered.</p>
<p>          After handing the last mug of coffee to Lukas Randall (who <em> finally </em> accepted coffee from him), he headed back to the break room to put back the empty tray, and made himself a mug of coffee. He wasn’t sure if he could survive the day without it; he wondered in amusement how Lauren survived with insufficient sleep every other day. Clearly, the officer was one hell of a hard worker.</p>
<p>          He took a sip of his coffee and went out of the break room, walking to the archives. On his way, he finally saw the Sergeant, who seemed to be on her way from the shooting range. That explained her disappearance. He was just about to plaster on one of his classic smiles to greet her, when he noticed that she was already looking at him, and not very much enthused. </p>
<p>          Despite the fact that he was both the Purple Hyacinth and Lune, he was very much scared for his life at this very moment, because he must’ve made a grave mistake for her to look pissed off at him.</p>
<p>          His anxiety—or whatever his nearly frozen heart could feel—heightened when Kym Ladell proceeded to grab him by the elbow, tugging him along with her out of the building, into the cold air. She pulled him far enough from the precinct, before finally letting him go, folding her arms. </p>
<p>          “You’re Lune, aren’t you?” she asked, except it sounded more accusatory than a question. </p>
<p>          And Kieran, well—he wasn’t quite sure how to respond. He wasn’t so surprised that she found out; after all, the dating alibi he’d given was quite a weak one, especially because Lauren Sinclair sucked at acting her part. Which was also mainly the reason they suspected her to be Lune to begin with. It was only about time someone discovered that he was the other half of Lune.</p>
<p>          Ladell continued, “Which means you’re part of the Phantom Scythe.”</p>
<p>          Though this wasn’t much of a shock to him either, he still felt his stomach turn sour. Anyone with a decent thought process would’ve come to that conclusion, because if Lauren Sinclair was the half of Lune from the side of the law, then the other half was from the Phantom Scythe, which he was. </p>
<p>          He knew there was no point in trying to lie. Instead, he went for a question of his own: “What are you going to do?”</p>
<p>          “You’re not even going to explain yourself, justify yourself before I surrender you?” The sergeant queried, a mix of confusion and irritation across her face.</p>
<p>          Kieran let out a hollow scoff. Normally, he’d try his best to humor her, but he was exhausted, and he really didn’t want to deal with this problem at this point yet, not when there were far more pressing matters. “What do you want me to say? You already know why we’re doing this.”</p>
<p>          “Do you still think what you’re doing is <em> alright</em>?” She said exasperatedly. “Do you not see the consequences of your actions, the people who <em> died </em> because of what you’ve been doing?”</p>
<p>          “We were only uncovering the crimes of those who needed to face justice; it was the Purple Hyacinth who murdered them all, which we hadn’t been expecting,” Kieran argued, as if it wasn’t him who committed the tragedy of the prison tower. “Which was also why we’ve stopped, haven’t we?”</p>
<p>          “And who is the Purple Hyacinth, if not yourself?”</p>
<p>          Kieran’s face turned stoic, as if it hadn’t been cold enough before. He raised an eyebrow. Truly, he had underestimated the intelligence of the young sergeant.</p>
<p>          “Can you really say you haven’t been expecting that to happen, then?” she continued. “<em>No. </em> You knew, and maybe if you had done something instead of kill all those people, I would’ve believed that you had righteous intentions as Lune. And maybe I could understand why you’d go so far as to risk your life for this. But no, you sent these four people to prison, and you killed <em> so much more </em> than them.” She paused to take a breath, running a hand through her hair frustratedly. </p>
<p>          “I cannot begin to imagine what you could’ve said to convince Lauren, but I know you’re just using her to get what you want. That’s why you didn’t kill her that night, isn’t it? You think I wouldn’t have realized that ever since that night, she’s always tense, coming to work after more and more sleepless nights? You’re just manipulating her like the vicious… <em> creature </em> you are, making her do your bidding, using her own trauma for your own intentions. I can’t believe I ever thought you were a decent person for her. I should literally just arrest you right now.”</p>
<p>          The fact that Ladell had called him a vicious creature wasn’t exactly what hit him (In fact, he’d come to terms with the nickname. He considered himself as one, after all.) No, it was when she had equated him with the Leader, who was using people, no, using <em> him </em> for his nasty acts, who had quite literally shaped him into the image of this ruthless murderer, against his own will, and made him do everything he did up to this date. It took him a few years to regain some approximation of a control back in his life, which was when he decided to go against the Leader. And now here she was, telling him that… that he was <em> just </em> like the Leader. </p>
<p>          It made his blood boil, his gut churn in disgust. It wasn’t fair of the sergeant to point fingers so easily at him, not when they barely know each other, spare the few interactions that they have. (Then again—he hadn’t been the fairest when he decided to play judge, jury, and executioner to all the lives he’d reaped. He then reminded himself, he had little say in this, so he supposed he shouldn’t be carrying the weight of the burden himself.) She had little right to tell him who he was or wasn’t, not when he’d been trying his best to retain the little humanity he had left. </p>
<p>          He wasn’t so mad at the sergeant, per se; it was an accumulated frustration that he’d been carrying on his shoulders for so long, frustration that he’d shoved instead of dealing with, and that no one else seemed to see that frustration had caused it only to bubble further to the brim. Now, with Ladell’s accusations serving like the flint to the steel that was his exhaustion, it felt like something inside himself snapped. </p>
<p>          He let out a low chuckle, one that sent shivers down your spine. </p>
<p>          “Sarge,” he began. “Go ahead, arrest me all you want. I’ll give you every evidence you need to incriminate me, Lune style. Don’t worry, I’ll even make sure Lauren doesn’t get the brunt of my imprisonment. After all, this is all my fault, isn’t it?”</p>
<p>          The blue-haired woman seemed to have realized, quite belatedly, unfortunately, who she had been speaking to. They were alone—out in the daylight, sure, but this was the <em> Purple Hyacinth </em> she was dealing with—there must be a good reason people feared him so much. Perhaps because she was seeing him as Kieran White, she’d failed to register the fact that he was a cold blooded murderer, anything but <em> human</em>. He recognized the expression on her face—it was much akin to Lauren’s, that night she called him a monster.</p>
<p>          He should’ve stopped. It was his biggest warning sign. It was something that had already ruined his relationship with Lauren Sinclair, and way too much collateral damage. And if not of the expression itself, he should’ve thought of the deal they made, the circumstances they laid their groundwork on. He should’ve thought of that, of the way he’d <em> broken </em> that, and tried at least to honor her wish to not get her friends involved. He’d even <em> promised </em> that the second time around.</p>
<p>          But he was already so frustrated, so <em> tired </em> of thinking about <em> everything</em>, everything that had happened, everything that was happening, and everything that was about to happen. He clutched the mug he was holding a little too tightly, closing his eyes to maintain his calm, before he began: “Send me to prison, Ladell, do what you want. It won’t change anything. The Phantom Scythe, the one <em> we’re </em> working to bring down, will still be there. The Leader will only send more people to spy on your precinct, will only strengthen their efforts to keep the existence of the Phantom Scythe safe. Then there’s Lauren, who I assume is the bigger reason you’re mad at me. Say she goes to prison; from the perspective of the APD, you lose a valuable asset. She’s one of the only ways you can actually catch <em> anyone </em> from the Phantom Scythe, and I believe you know why. Without her, you’d be far worse off than you are already. She <em> was </em> the one to capture me, after all.</p>
<p>          “But of course, you don’t want to capture her at all. She’s your friend, right? You’re just worried about her. Alright, now I’m in prison, and she’s not. What do you think will happen? You think she’ll stop playing vigilante now that I’m not there to ‘blackmail’ her?” Kieran scoffed. “<em>Hell </em> no. If anything, she’d just go around doing more stupid things, like she did when we stopped working together. She’d be stressing herself out, alone, with not enough intel about the syndicate, and no one else to share the burden with. Oh, but I suppose that won’t be a problem now, since now you know,” he said pointedly. Kym Ladell stood frozen in her spot, not wanting to say anything that could trigger him more. Deep inside whatever was left of his heart, Kieran knew he needed to stop. </p>
<p>          But he wasn’t quite finished just yet. “Maybe I should elaborate more, shouldn’t I? Right now, we’re not just working on catching the leader. We’re trying to prevent a catastrophe that’ll blow up this entire city, one akin to the Allendale Tragedy.” When the sergeant took a sharp inhale, Kieran cocked his head. “Surprised? Don’t be. You know we’re <em> vicious creatures</em>. And <em> that’s </em> why Lauren overworks herself over this, why she risks her life dawdling with an assassin whom she loathes, risks her position as an officer of the law.” </p>
<p>          He took a step towards Ladell, and she backed up, trying to maintain her steadiness in the face of fear. “<em>Think</em>, Sarge. Why do you think she still wants to work with me? Come on, you’re her best friend, you know her better than anyone. You <em> know </em> her deepest desire is to capture the leader, and her biggest regret is that guilt of not being able to prevent that incident ten years ago. Do I even need to blackmail her for that? I gave her a choice that night, when she caught me. She could’ve refused, hell, she could’ve tried arresting me if she wanted to, and I didn’t even have to kill her—after all, who would believe a demoted officer with no evidence?” A glint of sorrow flashed in the Sergeant’s eyes. “But she made the choice. She came to me, and we agreed on a deal.”</p>
<p>          With a face so tired, so devoid of emotion, he concluded: “You may be the officers, the ‘good’ side of the law, but don’t act like every ‘bad’ thing that happens is on the Phantom Scythe, on us assassins. Not when you’re all doing things for your own selfish reasons. Don’t blame us when something <em> you </em> started, something you <em> chose</em>, ends up ‘wrong’. You cops are no better than us. If you’re so curious, ask her yourself. She’s seen a little too much lately.”</p>
<p>          He left the blue-haired sergeant in her stupor, not wanting to feel the regret intensify in him, taking large strides back to the precinct. He made his way rapidly back to the archives, and upon checking that it was empty, he allowed his body to relax, letting blood flow through his constricted muscles. His hands unclenched themselves. The mug in his hands fell, the sound of ceramic shattering against the wooden floor reverberating across the room, but he didn’t bother reacting to it. His knees buckled, and he leaned against the shelf as he slid to the ground, the ceramic pieces of the mug digging into his skin. He was all but numb, though, barely registering the tangible pain. Instead, all he could feel was that one prominent nerve in his heart, the feeling that gave birth to the name he was infamous by, the name the city knew by heart, the name everyone feared.</p>
<p>          The Purple Hyacinth; <em> regret</em>.</p>
<p>          It was a nasty emotion that haunted his every minute of being alive. The oil to the dying flame that was his humanity, the only thing keeping him alive, and yet scorching him from within. He seemed to always be doing the wrong things, the things he shouldn’t be doing. Today, again, he repeated a mistake he’d vowed to never do again. He broke yet another rule, a rule he promised against. Everything he’d tried to build never seemed to last long. He closed his eyes. The archivist swore he could see the disappointed look in Lauren’s face. <em>I messed up, </em>the words echoed in his head. Even though the recipient of his aggravation hadn’t been Lauren Sinclair, it didn’t mean it was any better, especially because Kym Ladell had every right to be mad at them, at <em>him</em>, for what they were doing. He <em>did</em> propose the deal, and somehow made everything worse. </p>
<p>          She may have been wrong about him, but maybe she’d been right when she called him a vicious creature, even though he’d been mad at her for that—the way he’d lost himself when Lauren called him a monster.</p>
<p><em>           Foolish. </em><em>How absolutely foolish</em>, he chastised himself repeatedly, fisting his hands in frustration. In doing so, he’d managed to stick more ceramic pieces into his skin, his hands becoming completely covered in blood. Perhaps it was because he was so used to the blood that it didn’t disturb him any longer. His eyes were closed in agony, his teeth gritted, the air sifting through the small gaps between his teeth. For a few minutes, he remained that way, in an effort to calm his head—or rather his emotions—down, breathing in and out in a steady tempo.</p>
<p>          When Kieran reopened his eyes, he was forced to return to the grim reality. He was still in the archives, and he still had a job to do, a job that could do without his unnecessary sentiments. With much effort, he hoisted himself. Seeing the blood on his hands caused his chest to ache again, but he shook the incoming wave of emotions away, instead deciding to head to the infirmary to get himself bandaged. He tried to leave as little blood on the facilities as possible, not wanting to have to answer unnecessary questions. He felt too wrung out of his emotions. He thought he could do without human interaction for a while. He used his elbow to open doors, and walked to the infirmary as fast as possible. He explained to the nurse that he’d accidentally dropped a mug and gotten himself injured, which was more or less the truth anyway. She didn’t ask more questions and attended to him as necessary. He silently thanked her for that. He could use some little blessings in his increasingly dreary day.</p>
<p>          On his way back to the archives, he encountered the patrol unit getting ready to leave. He immediately retracted his bandaged hands, but he suspected Ladell might’ve already seen them. He tried to maintain an impassive expression nonetheless. He was still shaken up by the outburst with the sergeant that he was late to register Lauren Sinclair’s questioning look at his hands. Perhaps he shouldn’t have been too surprised; though she could be blind in many aspects, she could be quite observant when it came to body language—or maybe to his antics, in general. He ducked his head, a sign that he wasn’t going to explain himself, not in the precinct at least.</p>
<p>          He got back in the archives, and after cleaning up the mess of the broken mug, began doing his job—which really was just to read and organize more files. Nothing he’d read so far had been useful for either the Phantom Scythe or for Lune, and he was beginning to lose any patience. Thinking of what Lauren had told him when they first came around to Greychapel, regarding Snapdragon, he wondered whether he should be going to the long buried past to look for some answers.</p>
<p>          So he went for the shelves where the files of the last decade were stored. Because he wasn’t in the particular mood to walk down memory lane, he decided to start reading the files of XX18, deciding to save the worst parts for another day, when he would be clear headed enough to traverse the tragedy and notice the important details. The reports on deceased people weren’t that plenty in these months, he noticed, which was understandable—many of the Phantom Scythe members, including himself, were recruited later on, and many were victims of the tragedy themselves. </p>
<p>          But he still felt like the deaths of the people early in the timeline could tell something, so he went through each of them with as much detail as he could. True to the Phantom Scythe’s intentions, most of the deceased were people of high status, people close to the royals, the high authorities. He would have to do some more digging to see if any of these people had mutual connections, though judging from the messy reports, there was nothing he could find out in such a short time.</p>
<p>          Feeling the frustration bubble up again, he threw the report on the ground. As much as the personal past can be a strong motivator, it was just as much a detriment to systematic progress on the pursuit of the Leader, he realized as it kept creeping up on the back of his mind as he went through the reports. He kept thinking of—</p>
<p>          He kept thinking of how the papers only recorded the deaths of the people, that the tragedy was a tragedy because of the people who died.</p>
<p>          It was ironic, because the tragedy was clearly imposed upon the people who were <em> alive</em>. It was a tragedy for the remaining people—people like Lauren, who lost a loved one in the tragedy, and some like him, who lost himself. There was so much of the reality that the files failed to document, files that could easily help these people understand more why one would commit a crime, and hence find the right suspects. (Motive, after all, was one of the important things considered when choosing suspects. He did not have to be a detective himself to know this.)</p>
<p>          He supposed, on one hand, he should thank their ignorance, for it was one reason he was still out in the streets, despite <em> all </em> the crimes he’d done. But on days like these, days where he felt like he was carrying the weight of the world—even though he’d been ruining more than keeping it intact—he just wished someone would <em> understand</em>. That not everything done was under his control, that not everything was his choice. </p>
<p>          You couldn’t do that if you see everything from the black and white lens of the law. But for now, he had a role to play in every side: the black, the white, and the gradients of grey in between. Picking up the strewn folder, he went back to his reading, hopelessly reading the archives of an incomplete past, only hoping that the day would end soon. </p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="dropcap">T</span><span class="caps">ime passes by in a hurry when you get lost in the sea of your own thoughts.</span> Before he knew it, the clock struck 9. It was about time for him to go home, back to his humble abode, where he could freely relish in his messy thoughts.</p>
<p>          He had been too engrossed in his reading that he’d failed to notice the moonlight illuminating the streets. He grabbed his coat, deciding to call it a day. On his way out the precinct, he spotted a flash of blue. It took him a minute to recognize that it was in fact, the Sergeant, who was definitely the last person he wanted to see. A small gush of sympathy rushed down his throat when he noticed her face. Her face looked drained of colors that used to adorn her visual. He suspected that he wasn’t the only one exhausted from their small confrontation. After all, he could never forget the look on her face when he kept going on and on about himself. Somehow, he had surprised himself, too. It wasn’t like him to lose his cool over some provocation. </p>
<p><em>          No,</em> he asserted to himself, stopping the incoming train of negative thoughts. He didn’t need to dawdle on the mistake he made, not out here where the Sergeant was literally <em>right there</em> and could see his every pain, etched clear as day on his face. </p>
<p>          Finding himself too tired to muster an apology, he took a turn and hid in the dark. A sigh escaped from him. He was unsure of why he’d become such a coward in a short period of time. Everything was becoming too frustrating to him. Perhaps, he had become more of a human that he thought he was—weak, fragile, incapable of handling these trivial problems.</p>
<p>          Looking over the tinted windows, the owner of the blue hair was no longer there. Kieran took slow steps towards the door and walked out. When the cold night air enveloped his body, he felt like he could finally breathe again. Kieran wasn’t sure exactly why he felt like suffocating inside the building; he had his fair reasons as to why he was not comfortable there, but not to the point of feeling suffocated. The cold air instantly helped him think with much more clarity of what to do next. Maybe he could not undo the mistake that he made, but he knew he could fix it. Surely, he’d promised himself to apologize to the Sergeant the next time they meet.</p>
<p>          How injudicious of him to not have learned from his own transgressions—how time can be such a fickle thing, escaping one’s grasp before they realize it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Yes, this is a hell lot of introspection, because elle #1 has a thing for people being tormented by thoughts. Don’t worry, elle #2 is making sure there are feelings (namely agony, anger, angst, anguish) in the story ;)</p>
<p>To all our readers in the U.S., we would like to extend our prayers for the election, and please stay safe! Thank you, once again, for reading until here!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Clutching Ashes</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lauren keeps losing against time, time and again.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="timestamp">two days before</span>
</p><p><span class="dropcap">I</span> <span class="caps">t was still dark outside, a velvet blanket of obsidian draped over the sky, when Lauren Sinclair woke up, tasting ashes and tears on her tongue.</span></p><p>          It was the classic nightmare—the Allendale Tragedy, reenacted in her head as vivid as the first time she’d felt it. But with every new night, there were little tweaks to the scene playing, additions that were made depending on what she saw earlier that day, or what she had been thinking about before she fell asleep. Her two best friends were a recurring element in her nightmares lately. She’d been worrying a lot about them, her fears only being fueled whenever she’d go on an investigation with Kieran White and to discover nothing. That night, she’d been forced to hear the lies again—she didn’t even recognize the voice—and could do nothing as she watched the flames engulf her friends in the train station. She could only begin moving when the fire receded and all that was left was smoke and corpses.</p><p>          Aside from the foul taste in her mouth, she registered the way her heart seemed to be unable to unclench, tightening itself and restricting her breathing. She pressed a hand against her chest, trying to force the air into her lungs through some blind hope. Her mouth had been hanging open in her sleep, and she felt the dryness in particular as she took a deep inhale, letting the air rush in with force. </p><p>          It took a while for her to regain a steady breathing and calm down her pounding heart. She concentrated all her effort on that as she closed her eyes and directed her blood and oxygen to those organs, away from her brain that ran like a broken record in twice the original speed. She <em> despised </em> her thoughts after a nightmare, the way she’d be forced to repeat the figment of her undesired imaginations over and over until something else with as much emotional intensity was able to overtake those prodding images. It really didn’t help that the images could trigger her bodily functions and mess up her cardiovascular rhythm anytime without warning. </p><p>          When she finally regained some sense of focus, her eyes drifted over to the windows. The snow floating in the night glossed over her vision, blurring like an expanse of stars in the dark night sky. Her eyes were too tired to register anything else.</p><p>          She willed herself to sleep, but sleep would not yield to her.</p><p> </p><p><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="caps">f not for the knocks on the door—though soft, was the only thing to have made a sound in the past few hours—Lauren probably wouldn’t have noticed that it was already daytime.</span>The slow gradient of the sky outside did not come to her senses as she wrestled with her demons by trashing as much as she could on her bed. She only stopped when she heard the sound, her body jolting up sharply upon realizing that it was time to go.</p><p>          She dismissed the maid and proceeded to take a shower. She no longer bothered looking at the mirror when putting on the uniform. She memorized the image of herself, most days. Eyebags, hollow cheeks, bloodshot eyes, cracked lips; dry and translucent skin that felt like paper under her fingertips. If not for her naturally red hair holding the color of blood, she’d look like a walking vampire. She supposed she did, anyway. Kym Ladell had so often compared her to a corpse, she wouldn’t be too surprised if she ended up as one any day now.</p><p>          As an afterthought, she added: <em> The chances are especially higher now that the Phantom Scythe, Tim Sake, the APD, and literally everyone else are out to get me</em>. A dreary thought that would probably consume her if not for her determination to find the Leader and make him pay for everything he’d done to Ardhalis, to the people she loved, to <em> him</em>.</p><p>          She made her way downstairs and headed straight for the door, barely sparing a glance to the dining table stacked with blueberry waffles. The maids called out to her, but she dismissed them with a shake of her head and a small smile. She couldn’t even be bothered to argue with them anymore. It wasn’t like she had to—she’d been doing this for a while now, skipping meals day and night, spending almost the entire day outside either at work or with Kieran White in their investigations. Speaking of, those were getting more frequent as the deadline approaches, and she was only growing increasingly frustrated, their stakeouts proving useless more times than otherwise.</p><p>          She thought of Kieran, the way he had hidden his injured hands, the way he clearly hadn’t had the injury when he was distributing coffee in the precinct. She had plenty of questions ready for him, and she was definitely going to ask about them if she gets to meet him alone, but for now she shoved it to the back of her mind. She shouldn’t care, anyway. There were far more pressing things she should be thinking about. Then again, she had been thinking about them <em> so, so much </em> that it haunted her all the way to her sleep. Anyone with sanity would tell her to stop thinking so much about things. She doubted that anyone could be sane if they knew their lives were going to end as it were. </p><p>          Perhaps that was why, out of everyone, the gods decided to choose Kieran White and herself to play the part of Lune—because who else, other that they who have lost their sanity, they who would go to all ends to reach their goal, could do such acts, bearing so much on their shoulders?</p><p>          She ran a hand through her hair in frustration, nails scratching the top of her head. Upon realizing how much a mess she must’ve looked like, she proceeded to pull up her hair in a ponytail, not quite concerned whether it was tidy, as long as her hair didn’t hit her face repeatedly because of the heavy winter winds. She made the rest of her way to the precinct with haste.</p><p>          The first person she encountered upon arriving was William Hawkes, who aside from discussing their daily duties as officers, she hadn’t actually spoken to in a while. He’d been busy on his end with whatever problem he was going through at home. All Lauren knew of this was that his mother was sick, not much else, though she had an inkling that his father hadn’t been very kind to him, either. She wasn’t very fond of Stefan Hawkes herself for that very reason. Will looked a mirrored version of herself, his dark circles rivalling even that of Lukas Randall’s constantly dark aura.</p><p>          She began to grow concerned. “Will, is everything okay?” she asked with worry, her steps slowing down as she approached him in the hallway.</p><p>          Will gave her a weak smile as a greeting. They resumed their way to the office, now matching their pace with each other. “Just the increasing amount of Lieutenant duties,” he shrugged, the way he always did when talking about himself. </p><p>          That, unfortunately, did nothing to calm down her already frustrated self. Lauren always tried to be patient when it came to William. Not simply because they had been friends for the longest time, but also because she was like him in a lot of ways. They each fought their own demons, and neither of them were as willing to share their burdens with each other. They’d hang out with each other once in a while to catch up with each other, but even that they hadn’t done much lately, each absorbed in their own jobs to do. She often found herself missing the good old days, where they’d just go as their little trio, eating out and having fun without worrying much about what tomorrow holds. Sometimes her mind even wandered further, back to the days when they were still children, running the streets with not a single care, the years where fear wasn’t a part of their youth.</p><p>          But thinking of the early days, thinking of a tiny Will, brought back memories of another young boy, who she did not want to think about at that particular moment.</p><p>          She shook her head with a heavy sigh. “Will, even <em> you </em> need to get some rest. We all can’t work ourselves day and night. You’re not some machine, Will. You should make sure you’re eating and sleeping enough.”</p><p>          William, who was perhaps too tired to restrain himself, burst out laughing. “Lauren, you are <em> killing </em> me,” he said in between inhales. When he took a look at Lauren’s face again, he started laughing again, clutching his stomach to the point he had to stop walking. She started to believe her friend could be possessed by some laughing spirit. Maybe it was Kym. Maybe she’d somehow (finally) managed to enchant the Lieutenant. (<em>It was about time, anyway</em>, she couldn’t help but think.)</p><p>          “Lauren, you’re one to talk,” William finally said when his laughter receded. “I mean, have you seen yourself?”</p><p>          “Do I look that funny to you?” she scowled, nudging his shoulder.</p><p>          Will took a look at her, and his expression softened. “No, Lauren. But you should perhaps listen to your own advice. You look like you’ve gone through the past <em> month </em> without eating or sleeping a wink. Please get some rest, Lauren, or I’ll have to pull my Lieutenant card on you again.”</p><p>          “That’s no fair!” she wailed. It brought out another laugh from Will, who had stopped in front of their office, a hand on the handle. He was pushing it open when Lauren spotted Kieran heading to the archives from the corner of her eye.</p><p>          William followed her line of eye to see the archivist. He was smirking when he said, “Oh, don’t mind me. Go ahead, I see you’re impatient to talk to him.”</p><p>          Lauren rolled her eyes, but her feet were already in motion, walking up speedily to catch him before he entered the archives. She stopped in front of him, causing him to stop in his tracks as well. “Laur—?”</p><p>          “What happened to your hand?” Lauren wasted no time in getting to her point. Kieran chuckled at this.</p><p>          “I dropped my mug of coffee,” he shrugged. Lauren heard it as truth—but, as always, when it came to him, there was no telling whether anything was the full truth. “Why, are you <em> finally </em> concerned about my wellbeing for once?”</p><p>          “As if,” Lauren scoffed. “I’m just making sure you’re not up to anything weird in the precinct.” She observed his face for a while, trying to find a tell that suggested otherwise, but he remained impassive. Then again—Kieran White could be a hell of a good actor if he wanted to be.</p><p>          So she dropped it, giving him one final glare before walking back to the direction of the office. Kieran, however, wasn’t quite done with her. He caught her elbow, stopping her from moving forward. He took a second to look at her face solemnly, before saying, “You should probably take the day off.”</p><p>          Lauren groaned. “Why does everyone keep pointing that out?” she mumbled to herself. Kieran was quick to retort: “Because, Lauren, it’s quite literally the first thing we notice and it’s quite concerning.”</p><p>          ”Don’t concern yourself with me,” she reprimanded, yanking her arm off his grip. (She didn’t need him to traumatize her anywhere else.) She leaned closer to his ear and hissed, “Maybe focus on your <em> work</em>.”</p><p>          Kieran tensed, and Lauren wondered for a second whether she had said something wrong, when she’d even made the effort to make it as discreet as possible. But he only scoffed, and after uttering a sarcastic “Yes, Ma’am,” he made his way to the archives with large strides.</p><p>
  <em>           What the hell was that? </em>
</p><p>          She sighed. Then she began to feel her head pulse for some reason. Wincing from the headache, she trudged her way back to the office, but not before spotting Kym Ladell, who had just arrived in the precinct.</p><p>          She didn’t need to be a rocket scientist to figure out what her best friend was going to say:</p><p>          “Lauren, look at you!” Kym screamed, rather, in lieu of a greeting. “I know I’ve said this a lot, but you <em> literally </em> look like a corpse. I don’t know how you look more dead each and each day.” </p><p>          On the contrary, Kym herself seemed to be just as bright as the day before. She was like the sun, the constant in which the world revolved—maybe you won’t be able to see her for a while, but the sun of today would still be the same sun of yesterday, and the day before, and the days before. That was how Lauren viewed her: a bright beacon among her ever calamitous burdens, someone she could always depend on. Though of course, on some days, on some topics, she had to hide herself from the very light. But even then—even the light shone by the moon was naught but the reflection of the sunlight. She was one of the few constants left in her life, one of the few reasons she had left to stay alive, stay <em> determined</em>.</p><p>          Her presence alone was able to lift her sour mood by a fraction. “Maybe it’s the projection of all the murder cases we’ve encountered…” Lauren pretended to muse, posing like a delirious philosopher. This brought out an ungraceful snort from her best friend, who was, for some reason, trying to push a door that was meant to be pulled. “Kym, honey, are you sure I’m the one who needs sleep?” Lauren asked worriedly. “You’ve worked in this office for how long now, and you can’t even open the door.”</p><p>          “Ahahaha…” Kym chuckled nervously, pulling the door open upon realizing her mistake. “Nooo…” She held the door open for Lauren, and followed her inside. </p><p>          Lauren was looking at her with even more concern now. She grabbed her shoulder, stopping her from heading to her desk. Kym turned her head, a slightly surprised expression on her face. </p><p><em>           Her body’s tense, </em> Lauren noted, which didn’t reassure her at all. “Is everything alright, Kym?”</p><p>          “Psh, you know me, my brain just glitches occasionally,” Kym shrugged. Lauren sighed, and cursed the way her ability always seemed to fail her when she needed it the most. <em> Curse people and their half-truths</em>. Kym looked away, and Lauren noticed the way she halted in her steps for a split second, before resuming to walk to her desk. Lauren looked around the room, but there was nothing out of the ordinary—maybe she’d forgotten something? Maybe it was that watch she always carried? Maybe she’d lost it, and was feeling so disoriented because of it? Or was it really as she said, and her brain was just glitching?</p><p>          The more she wondered, the more she realized just how little she knew of Kym, and even William. They’d been friends for a while now, but how often had they talked about these things that plagued their minds everyday?</p><p>          She’d ask, but her realizations, as always, were too late. Kym was already back to her normal, wild self, bothering the living daylights out of Lukas Randall with her usual ecstaticness (she wouldn’t wish that on anybody early in the morning, but <em> especially </em> not Grumpy Cat). With a resigned expression, she headed to her own desk. Her eyes continued to shift between looking at an exhausted William and a suspiciously excited Kym for the rest of the morning. She could only wonder what was up with each of them. Much irony, given the fact that they were the best of friends.</p><p> </p><p><span class="dropcap">E</span><span class="caps">ven though Lauren had always considered herself relatively healthy (which, of course, had warranted serious discourse amongst the officers), she began to display signs of physiological deterioration. </span>On their daily patrol time that day, her head began to hurt so much she had to stop walking for a good minute just to get it to stop throbbing. Hilariously, William, who usually worried over her the most, didn’t even notice—maybe because he was too sleep deprived himself. He kept walking, and because he was leading the unit, most of the others followed him blindly.</p><p>          Kym, however, was a different story. Kym—despite anything and everything, despite the fact that she had also been far gone in her thoughts, to the point where she’d walked so far behind Will despite the fact that she was Sergeant—<em> always </em> noticed when something was off. She didn’t always mention it aloud, but she’d always find some way to make it better, and that was what Lauren liked about her.</p><p>          Today, however, Kym wasn’t so subtle. “Lauren,” Kym said sternly. By tone alone she wouldn’t be concerned over this; Kym could sound menacing when she wanted to, without meaning any harm. But when she saw her, the Sergeant held no hint of gentleness. Perhaps even Kym was getting impatient regarding her unhealthy habits. She grabbed Lauren’s arm and dragged her to the side, stopping at a safe distance from the rest of the patrol unit. “You need to stop this,” she said curtly, not sparing her any kindness.</p><p>          “Stop what, Kym?” Lauren prompted, even though she knew what the other was going to say.</p><p>          And perhaps she shouldn’t have, because the truth—funnily enough, the truth hurt more when vocalized: “Whatever you’re doing, Lauren! This—this endless pursuit of a long-buried truth. You’re all but <em> killing </em> yourself just to get to the end of this—Lauren, <em> none </em> of them would’ve wanted you to do this. They’d be proud of you as a detective, they’d be proud that you dedicate your life to solving crime, but they <em> won’t </em> be proud of you forgetting to live <em> your </em> life amongst everything else.</p><p>          “Look.” Kym sighed, trying to stay patient with her. “I’m not saying it’s wrong of you to want to know the truth. But it becomes wrong, and I have every right to worry over you, when you start neglecting your life for this mission. You’ve been losing so much sleep and skipping too many meals—at this rate, you’re going to meet your parents up there before you find out who killed them, which obviously wouldn’t be ideal. And it’s not just your physical life I’m talking about. We haven’t hung out in such a long time, the three of us. And I’m not saying that you have to stop doing whatever you’re doing to hang out with us, but maybe just spare some time for us, to talk. Spend your life with <em> us</em>, people who are actually alive, Lauren, rather than chasing ghosts, trying to solve a crime that just won’t bring them back!”</p><p>          “I’m not trying to bring them back, Kym,” she argued, in the defiant manner that defined Lauren. But she <em> was </em> exhausted, so she did not try to explain herself. She simply said, “You don’t get it.”</p><p>          “No, Lauren, I <em> do </em> get it,” Kym snapped. Lauren did a double take when she heard the unexpected harshness in her voice. “Maybe you’ve forgotten, but you’re not the only one who lost someone in the bombing. And I miss him, I really do. Why do you think I hold on to the watch? But it’s not going to bring him back. <em> Nothing </em> we do will bring them back. You’ve got to accept that there was nothing we could do to stop that from happening, that they’re really gone, Lauren.”</p><p>          “But that’s the whole problem, Kym, I <em> could </em> have stopped it!” Lauren shrieked, not minding the fact that they were outside, that anybody could be listening. Her hand unconsciously ran through her hair again, a few strands of her hair falling out of her ponytail. For a second, the image of her latest nightmare flashed in her vision, and when she blinked it away a tear escaped the corner of her eye unnoticed. “I could have stopped it, but I <em> didn’t</em>. And—and you may think that I shouldn’t blame myself, but you don’t know—it’s not like I don’t want to sleep, but the guilt quite literally wakes me up whenever I close my eyes. <em> Everything </em> reminds me of those two lies, the two lies I missed, the fact that Dylan <em> died </em> when he was going to help <em> me</em>, when I could’ve <em> prevented the entire thing from happening</em>—”</p><p>          She paused to regain her breathing, feeling her chest begin to constrict upon the memories. Kym watched, paralyzed, mouth opening and closing perhaps in hesitation. When Lauren exhaled, a cloud of smoke materialized before her, and her lips began to tremble. “When I see this smoke—I’m reminded of all the smoke from the fire. I remember the rubble, the buildings melting in the flames, the people running to safety, ash coating my skin and tongue and eyes and—and that <em> stupid hat of his </em>—” </p><p>          —<em>and how this all is going to happen again, if I don’t prevent it before then, if I don’t solve the mystery, if my </em> stupid <em> ability fails me </em>again—she wanted to scream, but of course she couldn’t—she couldn’t bring anybody else into this burden that she’d brought upon herself, the burden she was forced to share with a Phantom Scythe assassin she loathed, and no one else—because no one else was quite as broken as they were. </p><p>          And Kym—Kym Ladell, her best friend who cares for her infinitely, in spite of her being a horrible friend in return, who does everything she can to improve the mood because she knows that the world needs more joy instead of the fear publicized by the Phantom Scythe, the woman so strong in spite of her past—Kym deserved so, so much better. Kym, above all, should never have to deal with <em> anything </em> of what she was dealing with. She knows that Kym was already defending her involvement as Lune, and that was already a huge part from her. She didn’t have to be bothered further with the fact that she was in cohorts with the Purple Hyacinth, teaming up to quite literally prevent another travesty.</p><p>          She gasped, struggling to breathe. “I <em> can’t </em> sleep, even though I want to. I <em> can’t </em> eat because everything makes me want to throw up. I’m not choosing to chase the ghosts, it’s them that are haunting me, and they only materialize more every time the Phantom Scythe decides to strike, a painful reminder of what I failed to prevent. So <em> yes </em> , Kym, I am going to dedicate my life to hunt down everyone in the Phantom Scythe and send them to justice, to make them <em> pay </em> for what they’ve done. I am going to make sure I don’t waste my ability and stop them from wreaking further havoc in this city, from reaping more lives than they already have. And no, Kym. You can’t tell me you understand any of this, not unless you also know what it feels like to have this ability and <em> still </em> be so blind.”</p><p>          She noted the hint of pity in Kym’s expression. She squeezed her eyes shut, scoffing humorlessly. <em> Of course she’d react that way</em>. Kym asked softly, “Why did you never tell us? Or me, at least?” </p><p>          “It’s not like I do much to hide it,” Lauren retorted, “but if you must know, it’s because I knew you’d react that way. There’s nothing you can do about it, and now <em> you’ll </em> feel guilty about that.”</p><p>          “That’s the thing, Lauren,” Kym sighed. “You’re—you keep ignoring the fact that I’m supposed to be your friend. We’re supposed to share the burden together, and that there <em> are </em> things we can do about it. I’m not guilty for anything, because you’re the one who’s been holding back this from me. I pity you because you’ve been carrying this burden alone, which is why you should’ve shared it with us, let us help you on your mission. But…” she faltered. Lauren waited in expectation, eyebrows raised.</p><p>          “But you don’t trust us, do you?” Kym said quietly.</p><p>          Lauren looked at her with confusion. “Kym, I—I’m sorry if you felt like I’ve hidden these from you. I just didn’t want to burden you, really. I swear I trust you with my entire life.”</p><p>          “Then why are you working together with the Purple Hyacinth, of all people? You, of all people, Lauren?”</p><p>          Lauren froze. <em> How did she… </em></p><p>          “You couldn’t have hid this forever from us, you know. I’ve known for a while now, but I was seeing whether you’d ever come around to telling us. It’s been about three months. When are you planning on telling us? Are you even ever going to?”</p><p>          “I—” She couldn’t seem to find her voice, feeling that familiar invisible cord tightening around her airway. <em> Guilt. </em> It was creeping on her, again, but this time for an entirely different reason. </p><p>          She didn’t have to say anything; Kym took the words out of her mouth. “You didn’t tell us because you think we’d be disappointed. I get that. I can’t speak for Will—but I’d understand. At least, if you tried to explain it to me. But I <em> am </em> disappointed, Lauren, that you didn’t even <em> consider </em> telling us about it.”</p><p>          Lauren thought back to the day she stormed into Kieran’s cave and left with a bruised throat, the day their deal had been broken unofficially, due to broken trust. Kym had been the first thing on her mind, the only person who she <em> knew </em> she could trust. She’d even gone so far as to arrive at her doorstep, ready to cry in her best friend’s embrace, suffocated upon bottling up the pain alone. But she’d turned around and left, because she didn’t want to drag her into this mess. She wanted Kym, at the very least, to stay safe, to live a peaceful life where she couldn’t.</p><p>          And she wanted to argue this with her, wanted to argue—because that was the only thing Lauren Sinclair could do, evidently—that she had only good intentions, that she did care about her, that she was foolish to not have considered her perspective. She wanted to keep the smile on her face, not wanting to lose it—not wanting to lose another person she loved to another tragedy. </p><p>          She was so concerned about repeating her mistake, that she failed to realize she’d already done just that. She was still <em> blind </em> as ever.</p><p>          When she looked up to speak, Kym was already gone. Her gaze dropped to her clenched fists, nails biting down the insides of her palm. She brought a fist to her chest, trying to calm down her irregular beating. Her eyes squeezed shut in anguish as she strained her every effort to <em> breathe</em>.</p><p>          She choked out a hoarse sob, letting the tears spill out in a rush. <em> I’m sorry</em>, she thought to everyone and no one. <em>I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. </em></p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>As much as this is supposed to be a Kym-Appreciation-Squad fic, we’d like to take a chapter to appreciate Lauren Sinclair as well. Of course, you’d think this is weird, considering the whole story already revolves around her. But yeah, we do need to give her more credit despite her ambiguous morals, because she’s been through a lot. Elle #1, especially, feels this pity upon reading this chapter, so we hope you will feel Lauren’s pain as well. (That’s not to say she does not feel like Lauren’s a Massive Idiot. Our goal is to make you all feel pain from realizing how pitiful yet idiotic these three are, and how much they really just need therapy.) </p><p>That being said, a huge THANK YOU for everyone who tuned in until now! Thank you for all the kudos and comments, we greatly appreciate everyone! Till next time :)</p><p>  <span class="ellie">(Elle #1 would like to add: elle #2 is the one making all these nice comments of thanks. She’s lovely. I love her. &lt;3)</span></p><p>  <span class="celle">(Hello, Elle #2 is here and she is just very awkward and doesn’t know what to say except for saying thanks because SHE’S VERY GRATEFUL FOR EACH AND EVERYONE OF YOU! But most importantly, to Elle #1 for being very patient with her!!! Though I have to say, I almost got my ass kicked once, for not being active :P But I love her, go check all of her works, people!! You’re in for a ride of tears ;))</span></p><p>  <span class="ellie">(Elle #2 is studying marketing as she writes this. She’s quite literally writing the next chapter in class. Elle #2 is crazy, but elle #1 still loves her.)</span></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Ravaging Silence</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>William Hawkes listens, and does as he's told—with an ironic exception.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="timestamp">the day before</span>
</p><p><span class="dropcap">T</span> <span class="caps">here were three things William Hawkes considered most important in his life.</span></p><p>          The first was his job as Lieutenant, the job he managed to earn through countless sleepless nights, spent studying to ace the Lieutenant’s exam. Of course, every ounce of his hard work had rewarded him sweetly so. He could still remember, <em> feel </em> the pride that grew in his heart when Captain Hermann announced him as the Lieutenant from the eleventh precinct. He had promised to always fulfill his duties, whatever was needed of him. He couldn’t fail in this; no, he had to maintain the job he earned effortfully, through blood, sweat, and tears, by whatever means he could. After all, there was no mercy for a Hawkes like himself. Whether it was by his own blood, or by the people around him, there was always the burden of expectation looming over him, shadowing his every move.</p><p>          Which led to the second priority: catching Lune. It had become a priority in his life, knowing that it was one of the only ways he could keep his position, or better yet, earn himself a promotion. The topic of Lune had always been a tricky one. William himself wasn’t fully convinced that what they were doing was <em> wrong</em>, per se. But again, the law was the law. And as an enforcer of the law, his job was to make sure that the law is upheld, and as March had reminded him and Kym Ladell, what Lune was doing <em> did </em> break the law. They <em> had </em> to be sent to justice. They couldn’t be allowed to roam free the city without repercussions, because by breaking the law they had threatened the safety and prosperity of the people.</p><p>          And in the midst of it all, was his ill mother—the third, and possibly the severest priority. His mother… he didn’t even want to think about it. But he knew that in the back of his mind, he’d always be worrying about his mother’s condition, especially when the doctors kept saying that her condition wasn’t improving, despite everything they’ve tried. His heart clenched whenever he thought about her mother’s face, pale and gaunt, no longer shining like she did in the past. Will vowed that he would always be there for his mother, even in the midst of everything, all his responsibilities as Lieutenant and in their pursuit of Lune.</p><p>          That day wasn’t any different from the previous days. William Hawkes still had the piles of paperwork to do. He took a deep breath, his hand resuming to take a file from the pile next to him. The clock had only struck eight, way too early for a second mug of coffee, yet William felt like he needed it to focus on his job today. There were way too much thoughts swimming in his mind, and the reckless acts being pulled by the Phantom Scythe lately hadn’t helped his case. Furthermore, there was that issue regarding Lune; though they’d been inactive for a while now, nobody knew for sure when they’d strike again, their mere existence instilling fear. He was sure he’d lose his mind one of these days, with everything going on in Ardhalis.</p><p>          He straightened his back and stretched his entire body, joints cracking. He hadn’t moved from his seat since 6 in the morning; no wonder his entire body was feeling extremely stiff. He left his desk and decided to fill his glass of water that had been empty for a while. He figured he could enjoy himself a refreshment right now.</p><p>          “I didn’t realize that working hours start earlier now,” he heard Lauren Sinclair’s voice from the direction of the door. Lauren then proceeded to enter, a coat slung over an arm with a coffee mug in hand. “Morning, Will, please try not to give ideas to Hermann. I’m sure he’d require us <em> all </em> to come early as well if <em> you’re </em> doing it. Ugh,” she groaned. “You already know he hates me, don’t give me more reasons to fuel his hate.” William smiled upon the sight of her friend, but soon realized, her face looked weary and fatigued.</p><p>          “Don’t you worry, I’ve just been having way too much to do lately. I’m trying to get as much extra time as I could. And if it helps to know, I haven’t met Hermann at all today,” he offered kindly.</p><p>          Lauren’s facial features immediately contorted, expressing worry. “Did Hermann give you more work to do? He has to learn to deal with his own problems, I swear,” she sighed, taking off her coat and hanging it on the head of her chair. </p><p>          William let out a small chuckle at her unnecessary worries. “No, no. At least, not as far as I know.”</p><p>          Lauren looked at him grimly. “Will, seriously, you have to learn to complain. Don’t you just take all of Hermann’s bullshit quite literally the way they are,” she was saying. But if he were to be honest, William didn’t have enough energy to deal with Lauren’s nagging. He wasn’t paying much attention, but nevertheless he nodded, letting her know that he was still somewhat listening.</p><p>          “Dude, I know you’re not even listening to me. Don’t think I won’t recognize your body language, not after we’ve been best friends for more than a decade now,” Lauren deadpanned. “Ah, never mind, this is useless. You won’t even bother listening, you hard-headed man.”</p><p>          “Me? Hard-headed? Are you sure you’re not talking about yourself?”</p><p>          “Hey! Don’t try to turn this back at me. You and I both know you can be just as stubborn as I am, if not worse!” Lauren pointed at William, who was already halfway out of the room. William merely waved his hand and resumed his way to the break room to retrieve a glass of water.</p><p><em>           Damn you, Lauren</em>, he thought; she was never willing to admit that she was a stubborn person. He shook his head. In William’s eyes, Lauren was still the little girl who was always impulsive and honest. Even so, he knew that his childhood friend had grown into someone tough, built upon the harsh foundation of their demon haunted city. Alas, no human remains the same through time. To be human was to continue to adapt to their surroundings; and they were not unlike the others.</p><p>          His train of thought, which lasted the entire trip from the office to the break room, was broken upon the sight of Kieran White, the new archivist. It had been a month or so since he started working, and yet Hermann unfailingly heralded his presence, saying he’d brought about significant change in the precinct archives that none of the previous archivists had bothered dealing with. Through their recent interactions, William was sure that he was a decent man, but he still couldn’t see how he ever got close to just having a second date with Lauren, much less be her <em> boyfriend </em>, especially knowing Lauren Sinclair and her ultimate unbreakable love for her work.</p><p>          For a split second William wondered whether Lauren Sinclair’s sleep deprivation had increased because of… nightly activities spent with him, more than simple dates. He never pegged her for that type of woman, always seeing her as someone married to her work and lacking interest in any romantic or sexual activity. But then again, maybe that was her personal escape somehow, the way she coped with her duties in the precinct—</p><p>          —oh who was he kidding, Lauren was probably Lune, and if so, she’d definitely be spending her nights doing <em> that</em>. That would explain why she seemed more stressed from day to day; surely she wouldn’t be coming to work in such a lifeless state if she was really enjoying her nights. But if Kieran White did claim to be spending his nights with Lauren, it would heavily imply that he’s the other half of Lune, which looked entirely possible, especially considering the things he’d been seeing: of the way she reacted on his first day in the precinct, the way they had to talk about things all the way outside of the precinct when they could’ve just done so inside, the way they had to hide their relationship at all—everything was purely suspicious.</p><p>          And seeing Kieran White, the way he acted in general, all too charming and sweet and <em> definitely </em> someone Lauren Sinclair could not withstand in general—he could definitely see him as being someone inside the Phantom Scythe, which made him all the more dangerous. But he had to upkeep his own act, even if it wasn’t a vile one, as the Lieutenant Hawkes everyone knew him by. So when he walked past him on the way to get water, he gave the archivist a polite smile. </p><p>          Kieran White already had one plastered on his face, but William noticed he looked particularly exhausted, more so than usual. He could only wonder what the archivist was actually up to. “G’morning, Lieutenant. I’m surprised you’re not heading straight for the coffee.”</p><p>          He was oddly attentive to people, for an archivist. Attention to detail he could tolerate, but when it came to people’s mannerisms, he definitely wasn’t expecting that quality from just an archivist. Not many people would notice that the first thing William did when he arrived at the precinct was head straight for the coffee maker, especially when he usually arrived when there were barely any people around. But maybe he was just overthinking it, stuck on the theory that he truly was part of Lune. Maybe he just said that under the generalized assumption that people went to the break room mostly for coffee.</p><p>          “Was needing a refreshment, really,” William replied amiably. “I’ve got enough caffeine running down my bloodstream for today. I see you’re getting <em> your </em> daily dose,” he pointed out with a cock of his head, showing a little of his teeth, hoping it didn’t come out as a weary grimace.</p><p>          “Need to make up for lack of sleep,” the archivist replied.</p><p>          “Ah, you too?”</p><p>          “Only every night lately,” White admitted. Well, at least in that, they share a common ideal. William gave him a curt nod, and after his glass of water was filled, he left the archivist in the break room, resisting the urge for another mug of coffee.</p><p>          When he went back to the office and bypassed Lauren’s desk on the way to his desk, he wondered exactly what to do if Lauren actually was Lune, and it was what Kieran White and her had been doing late every night. Even though Lune hadn’t taken major action in a while now, that wasn’t to say that they were gone; they could’ve just been working under the radar, maybe seeing how it turned out with the Purple Hyacinth and all.</p><p>          He’d probably have to surrender her to Hermann, he realized. There was no escaping that. His fate had been engraved in the stars above, his actions dictated word by word like prophecy. There was nothing else he <em> could </em> do, a mere actor in the grand play set by his father, from the minute he was born up to the present.</p><p>          But for now, his lines were the pile of files lying on his desk, the never-ending mountain he’d rather clear sooner than later. He’d have to do that first, which was good, he supposed; it was better than having to debate with himself over the things under and out of his control, which more often than not led to a stressed mood. So that’s what he did, hours and hours to no end, for the rest of the day.</p><p> </p><p><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="caps">hen William opened his eyes again, the darkness had blanketed the streets outside.</span> It seems, by some accident, that he had fallen asleep in his job. He took a deep breath before sighing. Instead of making himself fresher, the short nap had instead worsened his headache. He couldn’t believe the fact that after the two mugs of coffee he’d downed in the morning, he <em> still </em> managed to allow himself to fall asleep on duty.</p><p>          “Reporting for duty! Sergeant Ladell at your service!” WIlliam, who was still half asleep, jerked his head to the direction of the voice: Kym Ladell, who had suddenly appeared, sat perched on top of his desk. <em> Ah</em>. He wasn’t quite sure whether it was Kym’s shrill voice or something else entirely, but the pulsing of his head grew louder. When he didn’t reply to her, Kym tapped his shoulder. “Knock, knock, Earth to William?”</p><p>          William shut his eyes, sighing. “How can I help you, Ladell?”</p><p>          Kym cackled loudly. “You’ve been so unfocused today, Will. What is up with you? I never would’ve believed if anyone told me there’d come a day where I’d walk in on you, asleep on the job. I genuinely thought someone was disguising as you and had been replacing you, you know.” Kym’s fingers landed on her lips, a sign that she was deep in thought. “Or maybe you’re a zombie! I mean, go look in the mirror, your face has been looking so lifeless all day!”</p><p>          William winced. He truly was unable to comprehend how Kym Ladell could maintain such an enthusiasm every single day. Kym was always smiling, making everyone’s day a little brighter. Contrary to what people might believe, William knew that Kym was someone who was pretty closed off in nature. She covered all her fears and doubts with her laughter and jokes. How someone could remain positive in the middle of such a terrible condition, with the Phantom Scythe terrorizing the streets of Ardhalis everyday, he could only wonder. Even after having spent so much time with her, he couldn’t see what it was exactly that kept her going, kept her motivated amongst all the dreary things they encountered.</p><p>          William tidied up his desk and paid little attention to Kym, simply nodding once in a while to reassure her. He was too tired to deal with Kym’s ardor. For once, all he wanted to do was go home and fall asleep immediately. Of course, he couldn’t do literally that; he knew he had to face about a dozen people before he could even reach the door of his bedroom, and had another sequence of responsibilities to carry out before he could actually sleep. One could dream, anyway. He was especially glad that today, out of all days, he hadn’t met Hermann at all. If Hermann had seen him asleep on duty, he would’ve been dead meat. He would’ve been detained for further longer in the precinct, and he would <em> definitely </em> have to face severe consequences.</p><p>          As if she had been reading his mind, Kym said, “You’re lucky today Hermann didn’t see you. We almost woke you up earlier, you know. But nobody had the heart to; we all thought you deserved the sleep, you <em> sleeping beauty</em>.” Usually Kym’s voice sounded light in his ears, her words like lyrics sung to lull you into any mood. But for some reason, that particular day, her sound was ringing way too loudly in his head. William squeezed his eyes, trying to focus his way back into reality, hoping to ooze the pain away.</p><p>          “Well then, thank you, Sergeant Ladell,” William pronounced each word curtly, not putting much genuinity in his words. Kym noticed this, and looked as if she was thinking about it deeply. “Hm, you don’t sound so sincere, Lieutenant,” she noted. “C’mon, let’s go.”</p><p>          But for some damn reason William’s head was throbbing so rapidly. He winced in pain once in every few seconds. He was losing patience as time went. It didn’t help to think of the paperwork he’d brought home to finish up, which Hermann would definitely be wanting by the next day. God, he didn’t want to have to hear Hermann scold him for a second time. Furthermore there was the issue of his personal problems, his additional responsibilities as the son of the esteemed Stefan Hawkes. That was a whole other issue in itself, and he’d rather not think of it in anybody else’s presence, not when he already had a billion pairs of eyes looking over his every move. </p><p>          “Come on, Kym, I’m extremely exhausted today. Bother me all day tomorrow, if you must.” He pinched his forehead, giving it a light massage. He was way too fatigued to even move around, let alone deal with the enigmatic blue-haired sergeant. He’d deal with her any other day, any day but this one. He grabbed her by her shoulders and all but dragged her out of the office before locking up the door.</p><p>          “Oh come on, you’re such a killjoy! Will, the night’s still young, come <em> onnnn </em>, are you not still young? We have to enjoy whatever time we have!” Kym still tried to convince Will, clinging to his side as they walked out of the precinct, a little too unbearingly for his taste. “Oh, oh, we can even take a walk around or even have some drinks at that bar two blocks away from here. Isn’t that nice? After all, it’s been a while since we spent time together.” </p><p>          Of course, William knew that what she said was entirely true. He realized, especially lately, everyone had been too busy with their personal problems. For some reason, even though they still saw each other every day in the office, he could still feel the growing rift between them by every passing day. They still talk and joke, but now it feels like their relationship changed vastly, more splintered. They barely spend any time together outside of the precinct. Every day, they meet each other at work, and go their separate ways to their solitary sanctuary until the next day. They spend every day together, without actually being involved in each other’s lives any longer. </p><p>          Even he had to admit that he missed the good old days when they did not have such a heavy burden on their shoulders, the moments where he did not have so much responsibilities and expectations to uphold, as the eleventh precinct.</p><p>          “Can we do this sometime else? I’m really tired at the moment,” Will responded to her enthusiasm lazily.</p><p>          But Kym wasn’t Kym if she just agreed to his word the way it is. “You <em> just </em> had a two hour nap, and you’re still tired? Wow, I think you’ve turned into a grandpa, Willame.”</p><p>          William paused for a beat too long. <em> Had I really slept for two hours? </em> He mentally chastised himself for a good while, even groaning aloud, but realized that he was still in the presence of someone else and shouldn’t be plastering his sentiments so clearly on his face, especially not in front of the ever-attentive Kym. He shook his head. “Drop it, Kym, I’m not so jobless like you are. There’s still heaps of work I have to do. You’ve witnessed yourself Hermann being unsatisfied over my reports.”</p><p>          “Which is why,” Kym argued nonetheless, “you should allow me to—”</p><p>          “I can finish it on my own. I don’t need your help, Kym,” William outrightly refused. It took him a while to realize how loud his voice sounded, and even he was surprised. His voice echoed in the middle of the street, devoid of people, as it was already late at night. Maybe it was because they’d seen each other every day, or maybe because he’d gotten accustomed to Kym; he wasn’t quite sure himself why he reacted the way he did. Or perhaps, maybe it was because Kym was the only person he could truly be himself with, a truth that she’d realized far before he did, a truth that he did not want to accept.</p><p>          Deep down, he’d always known. William Hawkes was an intelligent man; he didn’t just get the Lieutenant rank out of luck or money. He’d always known that when he was with Kym, he acted a little less like the him everyone else saw, and more like… more like a human. He let go of his restraint way more when Kym was around, the shackles that bound him being relieved off him for a moment. But Kym Ladell was like a fever dream in his ever hectic life. She was the most normal among the people around him, but if anything it was the main reason why she felt the most <em> unreal</em>. No one could be so normal given the dire present in which they lived, and yet here she was, trying her best to act as if everything was <em> fine</em>, making <em> him </em> believe that everything <em> was </em> fine, even when literally nothing in his life was going right.</p><p>          She was the only thing that seemed to be going right—</p><p>          —and that thought only terrified him more. How could she, a mere girl who seemed to always be slacking in her job, who seemed to be making a joke out of every serious situation, shake the foundation of his current reality so much that he was willing to believe that his reality could be somewhat <em> okay</em>? He was absolutely scared of opening up to the Sergeant, but he found himself doing that more than he should. And he was scared of admitting that the reality he’d always known wasn’t the only reality that could ever exist for him. As tempting as it was, it was too good to be true. There could never be a world in which he could be truly free of his responsibilities, from his duties, where he could be free of burden, happy with whomever he wanted to be with. </p><p>          So he was harsh to himself, as anyone could see. He had to be, because whenever he dared dream, they would be shot down just as fast as it occurred. He had to constantly remind himself that he could not depend on anyone, because the reality was that everything that could happen to him was based on what <em> he </em> and he alone did. No one deserved to suffer the consequences of the things he did, and so sharing his burdens would only mean more burden for him, and he had enough to carry. </p><p>          But even he had to admit that he’d been unnecessarily harsh to Kym when he screamed at her, even when he was just defending himself. Maybe because his actions were a step faster than his thoughts, but even while trying to unstick himself from Kym, he’d somehow managed to let himself loose again with her. She just had this effect—an effect such that all logic rendered malfunctioning when in its presence. And though he hated it, he knew Kym didn’t deserve the end of his wrath, because it was really only meant for himself. It wasn’t her fault that he felt this way around her. She deserved so, so much better than how he was treating her. He knew she simply wanted to spend time together, but even that he couldn’t offer her, not with all the expectations he has to fulfil, with all the responsibilities he carried. </p><p>          William was tired, and not just in a physical sense. Every day, his burdens only piled. There was too much that he <em> wanted </em> to do, but his corporeal nature did not allow him to handle everything. Hermann who kept shoving him more and more things to do, the restlessness of the people that he had to reassure through his patrol duty, and a solution to all that: Lune’s capture—everyone was hoping for <em> something </em> from him. So William had to give his time to everyone, and he was left with nothing. Nothing for himself. It was just unfortunate that Kym was depending on that supposed time when she invited him to hang out with her, because he had none of it.</p><p>          Kym gave him a silent stare, her mouth hanging open slightly. Not knowing how to utter the words, she brought her hand up tentatively—but dropped it as soon as she lifted it.</p><p>          William sighed. “I… I’m sorry, Kym. Maybe you should take Lauren out; she looks like she could use some distraction and enlightenment lately.”</p><p>          “Lauren—”</p><p>          Kym paused, and gave what was perhaps the saddest look William had ever seen her elicit. It felt a lot like his current mood: hopelessness, which was all but the antithesis of Kym Ladell. Kym’s brows were downturned, as she looked at him dejectedly, her lips curled in a soft, ironic smile. He could tell what she was trying to say even without her having to say it—</p><p>          But, really, there was nothing much to say, and yet so much. Lauren was Lune, no matter how much they were trying to avoid it. At least William had been; he suspected Kym had already been thinking of ways to confront her about it, but he was definitely postponing on that. He thrived on denial, because if William hated anything, it was confrontation. He was always compliant most of the time, because most of the people he dealt with were the higher-ups who required so much of him. In fact, it seemed as if the only people he ever dared confronted was Kym.</p><p>          And normally, he didn’t mind. Normally, he found it <em> liberating</em>, even. Being able to freely go against someone’s opinion, where such an opinion was not forcefully imposed against him, ingrained in him through time. But maybe that was why he had to stop himself that night, because he realized he should stop acting in such a way, no matter who it was. Kym shouldn’t be an exception. She was his friend, sure, but he wasn’t supposed to shed the image he’d built from the ground up for just a friend. He wasn’t supposed to be showing <em> weakness</em>. He couldn’t afford to.</p><p>          So William simply sighed. It was quite clearly a sigh of resolve, him telling her without daring to say it: <em> You know what we must do, so do what you want to, whatever makes you happy. </em> And he knew Kym got the implicit message, because her face looked even more crestfallen than it possibly could—but worse, she had given up. With him. William’s heart tore upon having to see such a sight, knowing that he was the cause of it—but worse, perhaps: the fact that she’d even <em> given up</em>. Giving up was never in Kym’s vocabulary, but she was giving up on trying to convince him to figure things out with Lauren, on trying to get him to hang out with them, on <em> him</em>.</p><p>          He shouldn’t be surprised. There was no reason for Kym to stay. Not for him. He didn’t deserve her. Not now, not ever.</p><p>          Amongst the priorities he had, there was scarcely any room for Kym Ladell. Kym Ladell, whose presence was ever so large, who could fill up the entire world if she ever wanted to. So even though it was hard, for both of them, this was perhaps for the best. Even though maybe they had to break a piece of themselves, it was better than trying to stick to each other while letting everything else they’ve worked for individually unravel in the future. He had to sever ties before they started tripping on them.</p><p>          He had his priorities. Now, he wasn’t sure whether any of that mattered anymore.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Here’s the writing process between two Indonesian authors writing in English, where each is more proficient in one language: Elle #2 writes a common Indonesian idiom, and Elle #1 has trouble translating it, because to translate it rawly it would mean “raw raw”. Literally. </p><p>The phrase itself roughly means literally, literally. (If you’re curious, it’s “mentah-mentah”.) It’s also an accurate description of how Will acts in general; not thinking much about what he’s being asked to do (or more like not wanting to do anything about it other than simply doing as he’s told because pressure). Hence William is just as stupid as the other two.</p><p>Yes this author’s note is a mess because we’re rushing to upload it, hence everything is a mess. We’re absolutely sorry for any mistakes and stupid repetition and logic jumps, but have what we have to offer. </p><p>Elle #1 is a legend and Elle #2 is a mess. They will come back in a more professional manner. We are praying for all our readers in the U.S., please stay safe in these turbulent moments. Thank you for reading, and as always, feedback is welcomed :D </p><p>  <span class="ellie">DENOTATIVELY! THAT’S what “mentah-mentah” means. Ah, I finally found the word when I’m just about to upload. Just my luck.<br/>And, again, Elle #2 is writing the thanks notes. She is giving me too much credit, especially for someone who wrote 80% of this chapter. Shower her with praise for me, please.</span></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Before The Dusk</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The world is most unkind to those who are most kind, and that includes Kym Ladell.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="timestamp">the evening before</span>
</p><p><span class="dropcap">I</span><span class="caps">f there was one thing that Kym Ladell understood best, it was that time was a fickle thing.</span> You could spend years grieving over the same tragedy and still not find peace within yourself. And yet, it could look like mere seconds to you the moment you find that reason. Time—time was… though time was the only constant in what was an ever changing life, even that no one could fully depend on. Time played tricks to the mind, distorting itself based on the world around you, stretching when you needed it to pass and compressing when you needed it most. That was what she had learned throughout her whole life. For she, too—though many seem to forget—had experienced loss that tore her life apart. </p><p>          Those memories of the night linger on, despite her efforts to move on from the tragedy. She could still remember the moment the golden watch stopped; even if the time from the watch had not been ingrained into her head, she’d still memorize it, given how much she relived the memory in her sleep. She was filled with so much misery, the tears would not stop pouring from her eyes. The realization then hit her: <em> time never turns back, does it? </em> No matter how many times she tried to ignore it, she kept falling back, having to face the harsh truth that time never stops for anybody. Tears and wailings she soon dismissed, but her affliction long retains. </p><p>          So, ever since that day, little Kym Ladell decided that she would become a police officer. <em> To spare people from the heartache that bestowed upon her, </em>she said when asked why she wanted to be a police officer. Sure, it might have been a classic reason for any other officer like her, but she wasn’t willing to give up just like that. She channeled her grief into her fuel to work harder and harder each day. With that purpose and her extraordinary marksmanship, she found herself admitted into the police department years later, way younger than any of the other officers. Kym Ladell was, in many ways, an exceptional young lady.</p><p>          It was then that she first encountered Lauren Sinclair. Kym was still a new officer working under Sergeant Hawkes at the time. If her memory served her right, Kym was hiding from him when they first met. It had only been a week, and yet, she had managed to piss the Sergeant so much by her clumsy antics. She found Lauren, who was Detective at the time, in the archives where she had been hiding. They exchanged their greetings there, the good-natured detective and the amusing new recruit clicking with ease, and the rest was history.</p><p>          Lauren didn’t change much as a person from when she knew her; she was still the same Lauren who kept getting swept away from the turmoil that was always present in her heart. She had always considered Lauren as a sister, someone who she would trust with her whole life, even if there were things that they kept private with each other. But ever since Lauren began lying to her about so, so much, she realized that Lauren did not feel the same way. Because of having confronted her, the grounds of their friendship now shook with doubts. She didn’t want to confront her, but at this point, it was getting too obvious that she was Lune, and the truth was interfering with their friendship like a heavy brick wall. To an extent, she could understand why Lauren would want to hide the truth. That wasn’t to say that she wasn’t still hurt by the notion. She knew it’d take a while until she’d be able to talk to Lauren as usual again, not until Lauren herself would have enough guts to spill the entire truth to her. Lauren herself has to face the reality, that was: she was already dawdling between the very thin, blurry line between good and bad. She would <em>have</em> to face consequences, no matter what.</p><p>          Lauren who had been gifted with her deduction skills that could match no one, but somehow it always felt like a curse to her. The same skills that helped her pick apart the truth from all the lies was also the same one that became the root of her downfall, with the cost of her detective position and respect of others. Kym had always envied her deduction skills—she had always joked about it, praying to the gods that one day she would be blessed with Lauren’s skills, but induitably she understood that to have such power means that you also had to bear the responsibility of it. The greater the power, the heavier the responsibility is. Being the only one who knows the truth was arduous, especially when nobody believes in you. The look on their faces, the doubting look, the sneers, Kym knew all too well—better than anyone—that Lauren was haunted by her past, making it difficult to move forward in her life without guilt heaving down her every step.</p><p>          Things <em> seemed </em> to take a new turn with the appearance of Lune and Kieran White. For better or worse, she could yet make a judgement. The bond between Kieran and Lauren was one of the few things that was beyond Kym’s jurisdiction. The only thing she could really say about it was that it was unlike any other—a profound, yet catastrophic force. Lauren kept appearing more fatigued each day, running on an average of two hours of sleep every day. But one thing that Kym seemed to notice was that, quite ironically, the fire in her eyes lit up brighter than any other. And Kym could feel it, Lauren burning with passion once again, fueled by the desire of vengeance and finding the untold truth of the Allendale tragedy.</p><p>          Kym wanted Lauren to let her in, to help her with what she could do. But the walls on Lauren’s heart kept getting higher each day, making it harder and harder for Kym to come inside. She’d tried climbing the walls, only to be shut down each time. So she did what she did best, and that was by simply being the Kym Lauren was accustomed to seeing. She’d make her best friend’s day brighter by joking around, goofing off, being anything but serious—because Lauren didn’t seem like she wanted Kym to be serious anytime soon. </p><p>
  <em>           (People think it was fine, because Kym was like this to everyone. Because Kym Ladell was always like this. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>           Was any of it ever real? Or had she just picked up on such a habit because it was the only way people would accept her?) </em>
</p><p>          Perhaps she could attribute these changes in Lauren to Kieran White, the mysterious man with his own dreadful past and indistinct beliefs. A person cursed with the title of Purple Hyacinth—a serial killer who made everyone shiver by the mere sight of him and one with sins far greater than anyone could ever bear. And yet, she’d catch the somber look on his face on days where he’d accidentally let his guard down. In those rare moments, Kym felt like she could overlook the crack of the facade he put up and see a plain human, one with regular emotions and feelings, just like her. Though, it would always return the second he noticed that he’s letting out his emotions. It was as if—as if he was afraid of his own feelings, afraid that it might betray him by letting out what he truly feels, not what he programmed himself into feeling. So, once again, he masked the human inside of him, to become a perfect killing machine for Phantom Scythe, the one under the name of Purple Hyacinth.</p><p>          Tragic, was it not, that the mere name that made people quiver in their sleep, held such a doleful meaning. A simple yet at the same time, very complicated emotion.</p><p>          Guilt.</p><p>          Even after having committed all those killings and assassinations, Kieran White was tormented most by his own feelings.  </p><p>          Kym could never really understand him. She could never understand why he’d  chosen the path of an assassin, the path that was painted with blood. There must be a solid reason behind why he decided to go down that way. Nobody would choose that way willingly. Perhaps, she thought, it was the only way Kieran knew how to survive in this wretched world. Maybe he didn’t have any other choice, but to kill in order to survive. It may not be a life he chose, but one that the others chose for him.  </p><p>          There had to be something, some underlying meaning of life that Kieran had. Whatever his intentions were, it wasn’t that much different from one she had, to stop the impending calamity that might hit Ardhalis, one bigger than the Allendale tragedy. For someone who killed a lot of people, Kieran White still had a conscience. Kym realized all this about him in the single conversation they had, two days prior. She knew—from the way he had tried to restrain his words, from the frustration due to the lack of time, and maybe simply from the way he still seemed to be able to care for Lauren, despite the common belief that murderers were heartless. And even though Kym could never just accept the things he’d done—even though the means would never justify the ends, something she felt quite a little too personally—at the very least, she could acknowledge the pain that he must have gone through, to reach such a devastating compromise between morals and actions.</p><p><em>           (She wondered how Kieran was able to sleep at night after seeing the face of his victims. How horrible it must have been—for both the victims and himself. </em> <em> Maybe she even took pity for him for that. </em></p><p>
  <em>           And if anybody knew, nobody would really give her credit for that—because unfortunately there was no place for empathy in the cruel, cruel city of Ardhalis.) </em>
</p><p>          On the other end of the scale, it came down to William Hawkes. The lieutenant of the 11th precinct, the man that upholds the Hawkes bloodline, and someone who she could proudly call her best friend, though neither one liked to admit it very often. William Hawkes was so much more complicated than who he appeared to be. Kym thought it was poetically painful, the way William flawlessly hid himself from everyone else. He appeared before many to be the dream man that everyone wanted to be. But deep down, William was mercilessly harsh to himself. Everyone in the precinct was aware of that fact, except for William himself. He kept taking more than what he could handle. Perhaps the reason why was to prove to himself that he was capable, that he was worthy.</p><p>          But he was worthy. Kym understood, no—she knew for a fact that William Hawkes was worthy of being loved. <em> Everyone </em> was worthy of being loved—at least that was what she believed. In fact, the main problem with William Hawkes was that no one seemed to love him the way one should be loved. He was so used to being venerated, being praised, for the things he’d <em> done </em> , rather than being appreciated for being himself. It made him feel like the only way he could obtain a love was through overworking himself, by earning the respect of others. He was so engrossed in the approval of other people that he often forgot to truly cherish himself. He failed to see that the very thing he ought to seek was in front of his eyes all this time: his own approval. He never learned how to accept who he truly was, continuing to maintain an image that wasn’t <em> him</em>, that no one could even imagine him as having any other personality than being hard working. Kym had been trying so hard to make William understand that. But a man could be so blind when it comes to their personal lives.</p><p>          And now the consequence was that he was forced to let go of one of the only authentic things he had left—his friends. He’d have to surrender Lauren to capture Lune, to make his father, and Hermann, and anyone who sees him as the Lieutenant, proud. And in doing so, he’d also have to break his relationship with Kym as well—which, of course, he’d done just earlier that day. He’d decided the fate of their relationship himself, even when she hadn’t given up on him, when she was still willing to talk things out with him. <em> He’d </em> given up on her. She still had a sense of individuality, much unlike him, to know that she still had worth, no matter the fact that he was abandoning her. But it <em> hurt</em>. It hurt just as much to realize that their friendship meant little to him, the same way Lauren had hidden many truths from her. Kym knew that these actions would’ve broken them to some extent, but it only made her more frustrated, because they’re sacrificing something that was of much more worth than the thing they were sacrificing it for.</p><p>
  <em>           (Kym was worried that one of these days, William was going to break. That one day, William was going to erupt into violent smithereens, causing collateral damage to the people around him, and she would be too late, left with the task of picking up his pieces.  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>           After all, that seemed to be her one true function—to be there when the havoc had been wreaked, to clean up the shambles of a problem she’d never been involved with.) </em>
</p><p>          All these people were stuck with their own tragedies, not knowing what to do with their lives without it, and so they let it burn them—seep under their skin, into their bloodstream, and then slowly consuming their entire being.</p><p>          The thought of not being able to help them scared her, suffocated her. Time would never be kind to anyone, not even to those who deserved the kindness the most. The longer they let the past dominate them, the more they’d begin to lose sight of their future. Kym only wished for them to understand that they were more than what they perceived themselves to be. They were more than just workers, law-breakers, law-enforcers. They were, first and foremost, human, but more than that, they all needed dire saving, a salvation that could only be achieved if they let it happen. But they wouldn’t.</p><p>          And it was a lonely fight.</p><p>          She looked around to make sure that she was alone. The moment she let her tears down, though, she knew she was <em> truly </em> alone. She cried slowly, with her tears streaming down her cheeks, dripping down her chin, and she covered her face with shaking hands. The feeling had crept into her, and she embraced it like an old friend. The very reason she knew how to be saved from destruction was that she knew she needed to make amends with her weaknesses. Some things were supposed to happen, even if it didn’t make sense. Did that mean that she was free from agony? No, but she let it slide anyway. She wiped her tears, sniffling. What was life without pain, anyway? Those unpleasant memories served as a reminder for her, that she was strong enough to let it go. Unlike the others, she used her tragedy as a reason, a reason to appreciate life a little more, to appreciate people and herself. Hence, she let those things happen naturally. Things come and go, so do people, and so do memories.</p><p>          But those three let it haunt them.</p><p>          Lauren Sinclair, with the guilt and her ability that she couldn’t control the right way.</p><p>          Kieran White, with his sins and Phantom Scythe looming over his shoulder.</p><p>          William Hawkes, with expectations and burden imposed upon him.</p><p>          They’d let it define them, completely allowing it to control their lives, that it became the steering wheel of their journey to the point to the point that it became their only fixation. It was wearying to watch the people you loved suffer in front of you, to see them beat themselves up over things that did not matter. When they eventually crumble, you do, too. There were times when she wanted to close her eyes, to be oblivious of reality—considering that when she opened her eyes, she’d try to do whatever it took to save them.</p><p>          But she couldn’t. Perhaps, she was reminded of her own unresolved conflict, the one relationship she failed to salvage. She didn’t want them to go through the same experience she had. Because, regret—the one emotion she was all too familiar with—was vicious. That was what she saw when she closed her eyes: the never fading reminder of what she’d done wrong in the past, how she failed to show how much she truly cared. It took him a long time, an onerous process, through which she was finally able to accept that she couldn’t change the past. But she could still focus on the future, and so that was what she did. Time and time again, she found herself trying to help them find their peace. It was never their fault; they lost sight of the present while trying to justify their guilt. She wanted to be there for her friends to help them realize this, to help ease the pain.</p><p>          A few light brushes against her moist cheek made her aware of her surroundings. It was a somber evening, with the clouds gathered, bringing an earlier night, snow falling over every part of the city. It was dangerously cold, and there was almost no one outside, she’d noticed. Nobody sane enough would choose to stay outside when the temperature was under 10 degrees. Except for her, apparently, she chuckled as she pondered. She watched as the flakes fell against the lamplight and melted into the ground, before holding out a hand to watch them fall on her palm. She observed one particularly intricate snowflake stay for a solid second, before disintegrating into a drop of water.</p><p>          Time was beautiful. But more often than not, time was short—way shorter than it looked. </p><p>          Therefore, she couldn’t let go of them. Some might say that her intention was selfish—for she could never bear to watch them drown. Maybe it was. Maybe she held on because it was the only way <em> she </em> could survive. She grasped on them tighter. No, not today, not ever, not by any chance was Kym willing to give up on them. Not while she was still breathing. </p><p>          Wrapping her coat more tightly around herself, she decided to call it a day. There were things she needed to do rather than being sentimental, things that she hoped could make everything better. She knew she was running out of time. It was only about time <em> someone </em> decided to take a calamitous action and blow everything up. If she didn’t try to deal with her best friends before then, she knew she’d have to be the one to deal with the aftermath again, <em> alone</em>. So she’d devise a plan when she got home. She’d think of the best way to talk to each of them, <em> again</em>, even though it had been clear that they were not willing to do so. She had to fight her way through their emotions for a moment, while still respecting that emotional boundary between them, for the sake of themselves and a better Ardhalis. Everything they were doing now was going to impact the city, one way or another, and everything that happened to the city was going to impact them tremendously. It was time they talked seriously, a manner that was so unlike Kym Ladell, but a manner that was direly needed at the present time.</p><p>          She took her time on her way back home, walking down the streets of cobblestone. Before she knew it, she began humming The Lullaby. </p><p>          She might not have much time, but she had long since learned how to savor it, making the most of what she had.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi everyone! We’re back with another depressing chapter of them having self introspection :)) This is the one we’ve been waiting for: Kym! Our queen and savior! Except… yeah she’s about to die, and yet, even she hadn’t seen it coming :( Oh well. This one took a hell lot of time to write, because it’s much more thoughts and feelings (“No plot just feelings” -Elle #2, 2020), and is especially hard when we have no backstory of Kym in canon at all. We hope we did a good job in writing what could be her thoughts (and it’s barely anything Kym-related—like why is half of this about all the others? BECAUSE KYM IS A SELFLESS QUEEN, THAT’S WHY. Then again, this is our interpretation, so feel free to disagree.). </p><p>We sure hope that you’re still interested in reading this. Thank you to everyone who commented on the previous chapters. We love reading your comments and it was what kept us going! </p><p>One thing we’d like to say is that we're taking a 6 days break from this fic in order to focus on our real life. Life has been hectic for both Elles. With university, the covid situation and everything else, we’d like to take a moment for ourselves. We apologize for the delay of the next chapter, we promise that we’ll come back bigger and better :) See you next Monday!</p><p>  <span class="celle">Also, have you guys read episode 67? Because I am dying and I’m ready to throw hands for William.</span></p><p>  <span class="ellie">And if you’re a fastpasser like me, you’d be dying even more. I love this episode so, so much, and because I keep gushing to Elle #2 about it, she’s literally considering buying coins to fastpass HAHAHA<br/>Plus, shout out to Elle #2 for this masterpiece of an episode! Even <b>I</b> nearly cried reading the episode. I just love Kym so much :""")</span></p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Elusive Reality</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Even within the hand he's been forced to deal with, Kieran White chooses to choose his own path.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="timestamp">that night, 1 a.m.</span>
</p><p><span class="dropcap">I</span> <span class="caps">t didn’t feel like death at all.</span></p><p>         Kieran White had still been frozen, holding his breath from hearing the gunshot that was way too close for comfort, when he saw for a split second a flash of blue hair before it went flying. He and Lauren Sinclair, who were again in Greychapel, had finally found a promising entrance for once—before they heard the incoming footsteps and hasted chatter of two Phantom Scythe members even he couldn’t identify. So they had to take a detour, leaving what they found in hopes of anonymity from the strangers. It wasn’t an easy task, and they found themselves stuck in a particularly dark corner. Even though they could leave through the other alley, they would definitely be discovered. While they’d always be prepared for such a chase, Kieran—lethargic as he was—wasn’t in the particular mood to run. </p><p>         So they tried to keep as quiet as possible, keeping watch for the two Phantom Scythe members while trying to hide in the shadows and walls. It was then that they heard the gunshot. Instinctively, he pulled Lauren by her shoulders, much to her dismay, especially when they had sensitivities when it came to physical contact. Kieran kept the lookout on the direction of the gunshot, which was also where the members were, while Lauren decided to take watch of their backs, in case anyone else saw them. They were preparing to run in either direction, especially considering that the cops would arrive anytime soon. Lauren was crouching, legs ready to bolt, while Kieran had his back against the wall, head sticking out to the side, looking over his shoulder to see if anyone was there, if the coast was clear.</p><p>         It was then when he saw a shadow of a body, casted over the alley. Trying to breathe as quietly as possible, Kieran took deep slow breaths, inching further away from the corner to not let himself be seen, while still trying to get a look at the person. He saw, from the shadow, that it was the person who took the gunshot, as they were holding a gun up with an extended hand. The odd thing, though, was that the gun was pointed a direction far off where he and Lauren were currently hiding. Why <em> would </em> they take the shot, if they hadn’t seen him or Lauren? Unless, they’d somehow missed another presence in the area, which he initially considered highly unlikely, especially considering how quick and easily sound travels in the quiet night of the streets of Greychapel.</p><p>         He craned his neck a little bit more, and found out through quite an unfortunate luck how very wrong he was. Not only was there the gunner and one or more people at the other end of the gun (or at least he was assumed), there turned out to be a third party there that night, one with a sword much like what he was accustomed to—which he discovered when said extensive blade of steel sliced through the neck of the gunner and sent the head, adorned in waves colored in the deepest layer of the ocean, flying and landing straight on the dirty damp stone ground. The job was so <em> clean </em> in the sense that it took only a single strike to disconnect the head from the rest of the body, but not so much when you consider the splatter of blood that reached even the alley leading to where they were hiding. Kieran’s only jerk reaction was to step back, to stumble into Lauren, who snapped her head at him with eyes wide, taking it as a sign to run.</p><p>         But Kieran was frozen upon the particularly brutal—and yet, he daresay, <em> graceful</em>—execution. Of course, the murder itself was particularly a gory one, but what had struck him most wasn’t that plain fact that someone had just been decapitated by his very eyes. It was the face that had lost its liveliness as it flew through the air, splattered on the ground, not even as shocked as one should be when quite literally <em> murdered</em>.</p><p>         It couldn’t be, but Kieran knew—the head belonged to, quite ironically, a particularly lively officer. Someone he—<em>they</em>—knew quite well. Someone whose presence did not just simply go undetected. Someone who made <em> impact </em> in so many lives, whether she, or they, realized it or not. Kym Ladell, Sergeant of the 11th precinct, had been murdered, and Kieran White had witnessed it.</p><p><em>          Nothing </em> about this felt like death. It was too quick, too easy, too painless to be death. And yet, the head lying a few feet away from him proved otherwise.</p><p>         His blood ran cold, and his feet stuck rooted to the ground. Lauren Sinclair, who he had stumbled upon earlier, shook his leg, trying to get his attention. She was still semi-crouching, but upon seeing Kieran’s uncharacteristically pale face, she rose up, now tugging at his limp arm instead. But when he <em> still </em> didn’t respond, simply gaping at her instead, she took the initiative to see what he saw instead, pulling him aside.</p><p>         Now <em> that </em> caught his attention in an instant—if <em> he’d </em> frozen upon seeing Kym Ladell, dead by his very eyes, he couldn’t even begin to imagine how <em> she’d </em> react. He was an assassin; he was supposed to be accustomed to seeing death, especially when he’d caused so much of them by his own hands. How much more terribly would anyone else—and this was <em> Lauren Sinclair</em>, the woman who never knew how to express her intense feelings properly, other than through violence and rage, and Kym Ladell was her best friend, one of the few people she cared about most. And if the police really were about to arrive soon, he surely can’t have them, especially not Lauren, be found lurking in the precinct so close to the murder scene. Even if they weren’t being pegged as the murderer, which would be the most obvious case here if they were found, they’d definitely be labelled as Lune immediately, what with Lauren being a particularly controversial officer already, and Kieran White as an archivist just not having a good reason to be in Greychapel at all.</p><p>         But it was too late when he’d come back to his senses, for Lauren was already standing in shock upon the sight she’d found. Immediately Kieran grabbed her forearms, pulling her and walking rapidly down the alley, away from the crime scene. They had to get out of there as soon as they could, before the police arrived to investigate the gunshot. Kieran didn’t even bother being gentle or quiet in dragging Lauren back, and he thanked the gods for that delay brought about the brain trying to process unnatural events. Lauren was still in her state of shock, her eyes wide and unfocused. Kieran considered just hauling her over her shoulder, because she looked like she would crumble any time soon.</p><p>         Then Lauren stopped entirely, not budging at Kieran pulling her. Kieran was forced to a halt, and he turned around to see Lauren still in her shocked state, except now she was looking at him with an unidentifiable glint in her eyes. </p><p>         “We have to go,” Kieran hissed sternly, reminding her that they don’t have <em> time</em>.</p><p>         But Lauren refused, the way she always did. “I need to see for myself, Kieran. I need to—I need to make sure.”</p><p>         Kieran sighed. “Lauren,” he said heavily, then leaned closer to make sure no one overheard them. “No matter who that is—if we don’t leave now, we’ll be exposed, and we will <em> definitely </em> be the ones pinned down for her murder. Come on, we’ve got to go.” He was already pulling her again, this time with an arm around her waist, which turned out to be a good idea given how she tried to trash out of his grasp, tried to walk over to the place where the dead body lied.</p><p>         Thankfully, Lauren was still disoriented enough to comply. When he made sure they had steered clear off the officers’ path to the dead body (and of course he knew this—after all, this used to be his <em> home</em>), he let Lauren’s body go, and instead kept a grip on her elbow, to make sure she wouldn’t impulsively run back. They walked that way until they reached the river. Just as they were about to cross the bridge leading to the 11th precinct, Lauren froze again. </p><p>         Kieran sighed. This was clearly going to take a while. He knew it would be hard for her, as it was for anyone, to accept death. If her reaction to the prison tower incident was any indicator of Lauren’s reaction to death, then he could only imagine it being so much worse when it came to a loved one, or worse yet, <em> seeing </em> the murder of a loved one happen right before you.</p><p>         And, if Kieran were to be honest with himself: deep down, he knew that he, and she, by being Lune, were a huge part of the reason that she had died. Because otherwise, why would she be there in the first place? Why would she have taken that shot, knowing that it would either lead to her being a suspect, or her more probable death? Why else, if not for the fact—the very obvious fact—that Kym Ladell cared about her friends so extraordinarily, that she would even lay down her <em> life </em> for them?</p><p>         Kieran only wondered how long it would take for Lauren to realize that, and when she did…</p><p>         “This can’t be real,” Lauren said in a trance, her voice barely a whisper. The smoke dissipated in the air just as fast as it came, the way her voice rang in the night. “That can’t—you don’t really believe that’s <em> Kym</em>, do you?” Her voice was now much more frantic, with them standing on the peak of the arched bridge. Kieran let go of her elbow for a moment, as it seemed she wouldn’t be running away.</p><p>         <span class="lies">“We don’t know,”</span> Kieran tried to say, but it would’ve definitely sounded as a lie to her—because even if she didn’t, <em> he </em> knew for sure. He remembered the expression on the Sergeant’s face as her neck was struck by the sword. He saw the way her face went through an entire spectrum, from a split second of surprise and pain to the eventual peace in death, in a way very remarkably Kym. Unfortunately her ability, while useful most times in their partnership—especially because there was supposed to be nothing personal and everything was to be done professionally—had proven to be quite the detriment this time. </p><p>         And it was clear from the way her eyes hazed once more, upon hearing the lie, upon the confirmation that it <em> was </em> Kym who was murdered. Immediately her knees buckled, and he rushed to catch her body before she fell. Lauren’s body didn’t tense upon the contact no longer, seemingly not being able to process anything other than the newfound truth. Her body began heaving rapidly as she began to hyperventilate, trying to breathe the crisp, frigid air of winter. </p><p>         “Hey, Lauren, shhh,” Kieran hushed, saying it in a manner that was anything but calm. He was trying to comfort her for the moment, but they were still outside, on the bridge where there wasn’t any building to shield them from people. It would only raise suspicion, and it definitely wouldn’t help if the officers from the 6th precinct had begun their investigation and started searching the area for potential suspects. So he said quite impatiently: “Lauren, calm down. We can’t—nothing’s officially confirmed yet, so let’s just get you back for now, okay? If something <em> did </em> happen, if it really <em> was </em> Kym Ladell, you’ll be notified tomorrow. But until then, let’s go home and get some rest.”</p><p>         Lauren didn’t budge, her eyes staring off into the distance, brimming with tears. Kieran exhaled in mild irritation, registering the fact that they were running out of time. “Hey. Wake up, Lauren. If you don’t go back to your house now, you won’t have a decent alibi if you happen to be called in as a suspect. Come, now, let’s get you to your house, and then you can cry your heart out all you want. Let’s go,” he urged, taking hold of her upper arm again, pulling her up from the ground.</p><p>         But Lauren seemed to have gotten hold of her emotions, among other things. She yanked her hand away forcefully, and glared at him with the sharpness of a thousand knives. “How <em> could </em> you, Kieran? How could you still be thinking of an alibi, when my best friend’s literally <em> just been murdered</em>, right in front of our eyes? She’s—she’s <em> dead</em>,” her voice cracked. “I—how could you still prioritize <em> my </em> safety when you’ve just witnessed her murder?”</p><p>         “For fuck’s sake, Lauren,” Kieran cursed under his breath, running a ragged hand through his hair, locks falling out of his bun. Not wanting to have this conversation under the jarring moonlight, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her across the bridge, walking along the border between the 10th and 11th precincts until he made sure they were surrounded by buildings, at the very least. “She’s <em> dead</em>. Yes,” he confirmed as they walked. “There’s nothing we can do about it anymore, except you have an extraordinary ability to revive the dead as well. But, in case you haven’t noticed, Lauren…” </p><p>         He halted, turning to face the poor distraught officer. “She died because of <em> us</em>. She died to save <em> your </em> life. Now imagine how much of a waste it’d be if she died just for you to be sent into prison, rendered unable to do the things we have to do. So <em> please</em>, for the love of god, come to your senses for a while. Now come on.” He resumed tugging at her, not bothering—not <em> wanting </em> to see her reaction to the truth bomb he’d just dropped. He wasn’t sure if he was able to see her break further than she was already breaking, and he was sure that truth would break her, because—</p><p>         Because even though it seemed impossible, Kieran White—the proclaimed monster without a heart—he broke upon the realization, too. The realization that he’d somehow managed to cause death, even without having murdered her directly.</p><p>         But he was sane enough to realize that it was no time for him to be wallowing in self pity. He continued walking, his hand hanging loosely on Lauren’s wrist, pacing the corners on the way back to the Sinclairs’ manor. </p><p>         As they were bypassing Nightingale Park, he felt a small tug on his hand. He slightly turned his head, but then he realized that Lauren had stopped walking, so he turned around to see her. His hand began to caress her wrist softly, hoping that it would somehow calm her down, already prepared for another conflict with her. It wasn’t so much that he was in conflict with her, but rather that she was having conflicts with <em> herself</em>, and he had to keep her in check before she absolutely unraveled in the streets.</p><p>         At first, she stood in silence, staring off into the distance—a sign that she was, again, lost in her messy thoughts. Kieran pressed his thumb against her wrist lightly to catch her attention. She looked up at him. She said nothing for a few seconds.</p><p>         Then: “I— No—”</p><p>         Though he probably shouldn’t be too surprised, he was still surprised when Lauren Sinclair began to cry silently, the tears falling in steady streams down her cheeks. </p><p>         Kieran hated it. He hated seeing her cry. Not simply because he wasn’t used to seeing people crying. Not because he didn’t like the sight of tears. Not so much because he didn’t like knowing that Lauren was in pain, and he (though he hated to admit it) cared for her, not liking that she was distressed. Pain was normal. Crying was normal. </p><p>         He hated to see it, because crying was what happened for every soul he reaped.</p><p>         And this—this was eerily similar to those situations. Lauren was here, crying, because someone she loved died. Maybe he hadn’t killed Kym Ladell directly, but not only that he could’ve, she had died in a way so similar to his victims that Lauren’s reaction felt like the reaction of anyone affected by his actions. And he hated it, because <em> he never wanted any of that</em>.</p><p>         He wanted to let go of her hand. He didn’t feel like he had the right to even hold her hand, so white against his blood-stained one. But she was still looking at him, her lips trembling, a few seconds from crumbling. </p><p>         She then took a sharp inhale, before letting out a hoarse sob.</p><p>         Kieran did not know what to do. He couldn’t even let out a tired sigh, because truly he felt bad for the officer. He looked around, making sure there wasn’t anyone watching them, before spotting a nearby bench. He held Lauren’s other arm with his free hand, walking her slowly to the bench, before her knees completely buckled and she crashed onto the bench. She was now fully crying, not being able to contain the wretched sobs deep from her throat, coming out all broken and torn. Whenever she squeezed her eyes shut, the tears would only fall out of her eyes faster, dripping from her chin to her lap. </p><p>         Before Kieran could think twice, he pulled her body towards him, letting her bury her head in his chest. His hands were shaking at the thought of coming in contact with her, but he needed to somehow calm her down—he wasn’t sure what he was thinking when he decided it was a good idea, all he knew was that he didn’t want to see her cry, and that she needed to stop crying. It was the thing people did most when trying to comfort a crying person, and so that was what he did. Apparently Lauren wasn’t completely in her best mind either, because she didn’t care enough that he had harmed her before; instead, she held him tighter, muffling her sobs with his body, her tears soaking into his shirt.</p><p>         How distraught must she have been, that she held him so closely, despite being scared to be near him, he thought. He was reminded again of how terribly death affects one. He was reminded, once again, of how <em> he </em> was the cause of many of those deaths. Lauren’s strangled screams vibrated against his chest. His heart clenched in pain. All he wanted to do now was let go of her, to run back to the solitude of his apartment, away from eyes that held judgment of him, especially Lauren Sinclair’s.</p><p>         But Lauren needed him now, more than ever. He didn’t know which of the two was worse. Then again, he didn’t have much of a choice.</p><p>         He brought up a hand to her head and began tenderly stroking it. He didn’t say anything, letting her cry her heart out for a while. A moment later, she seemed to have realized who she was clinging to, because her shaking body tensed under his embrace, and she pulled away. When she looked at him, though, her eyes weren't laced with venom as they usually were. She simply looked lost.</p><p>         “Lauren, listen to me,” Kieran said as calmly as possible, trying not to break over seeing her glossy eyes. Even in the dark, her golden eyes seemed to glint as always, he wondered for a split second. He blinked, refocusing to reality. “You were in the scene when the murder happened, so they can very easily track you. Everyone in the scene earlier are professionals and would’ve taken precautions. You need to be careful. You need to go home now, get some rest, in case you get a possible call. They will definitely suspect you, even if unofficially, because they’re already suspecting you’re Lune. Get changed, get some rest, drink some water.” </p><p>         Her gaze fell to her hands, nails biting the insides of her palm. When she didn’t respond, Kieran whispered, “Hey.”</p><p>         Lauren nodded slowly without looking up. Worrying that she might be thinking irrational thoughts, he asked, “Do you need me to keep you company?”</p><p>         Immediately she shook her head, looking at him in the eye. “I need to be alone,” she said with a cracked voice. “I’ll be fine.”</p><p>         Kieran nodded in agreement. It was a reasonable choice, really. He, too, would much rather be alone, after such an emotional incident. “I’ll walk you home, at least.”</p><p>         She didn’t say anything in response. She simply stood up, and began walking the way to her manor in slow, mindless strides. Kieran matched her steps, glancing to her beside him every once in a while to check that she was still conscious enough to walk. He didn’t really have to, because Lauren Sinclair did not shed another tear for the rest of the trip home.</p><p>         When they arrived, she did not say anything else to him, only giving him one last side glance before heading inside. Kieran stayed outside for a moment to make sure she got inside safely. </p><p>         He let out a heavy sigh. The way back to his apartment was accompanied with weighted strides, chilly breaths, and countless thoughts.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="timestamp">that night, 2 a.m.</span>
</p><p><span class="dropcap">O</span><span class="caps">ver the years, Kieran White had slowly become accustomed to thinking of himself as the Purple Hyacinth first and foremost.</span> It wasn’t just that it was the name most people knew him by, rather that it was the persona of him that made the most impact, in the world and in his own life. He could no longer live a life as Kieran White, so he often spent his days making sure that, at the very least, he could live as the formidable Purple Hyacinth, free of the law.</p><p>         Of course, the first thing he thought about as soon as he reached his apartment was about the unfortunate murder—and how it was so similar to his M.O. Not that he beheaded every one of his victims, but it was something he could do if the Leader ever ordered him to, because he <em> had </em> been trained with a sword, and trained <em> well</em>. Not only that it had been executed with a sword (he hoped the detectives of the 6th precinct would be too daft to notice the difference in the damage done by a sword as opposed to that of an axe), it had been so clean, yet brutal, a manner so like the Purple Hyacinth himself. In fact, the only thing that seemed to set it apart from his murder was the lack of the Purple Hyacinth, which he left in each and every one of his murders. Given the technicalities of the murder, though, it was still highly likely that they’d pin him down for the murder nonetheless. Luckily for him, the Purple Hyacinth was also largely known for not leaving traces. It was either that they find a trace that highly unlikely led to him, or find nothing and pin it on him or someone else, without a way to actually catch them. Either way, there was little chance that he’d be actually caught.</p><p>         He took off his coat, not bothering to hang it neatly on the clothes rack. He slung it over the couch and headed straight to the bathroom, wanting to quickly rid himself of the suffocating outfit. Before he could take off his turtleneck shirt,          he saw himself in the mirror and halted. He took note of the way his eyebrows had been constantly furrowed, his mouth etched in a permanent frown, his eyes in slits. He wondered whether this was what Lauren Sinclair saw earlier. And then he wondered how she still dared hold him close to her, because this face—</p><p>         It was so much like what he saw after that night their deal broke apart. And then he thought of just how much he can ruin something without having to <em> murder</em>. </p><p>         There were days where he’d convince himself that everytime he murdered someone, it was because the Leader ordered him to, or at the very most it was out of “self-defense”. That he didn’t have much of a choice when it came to his actions. That he truly was a mere puppet under the leader, his hands moving accordingly with the string the Leader decided to pull. But when it came to Lauren, there was no one else to blame. </p><p>         Everything was his fault, really. Maybe if he hadn’t gone and lost his temper the minute she accused him of being the monster he <em> was </em> . Maybe if he had simply told her about what the Leader instructed him to do, rather than downplaying the murders as a <em> joke</em>. Maybe if he just hadn’t even offered her the deal at all, maybe if he had shown her no mercy that night, maybe if he’d just <em> killed her then and there </em>—</p><p>         Maybe if he hadn’t shown a sliver of Kieran White, the man with emotions of a regular human, he wouldn’t have brought any more ruin than he already had to.</p><p>         And he remembered, again, of how this was exactly what had happened three days prior, when Kym Ladell had pulled him out to confront him. He’d shown a side of him he didn’t often show anyone—<em> no one</em>, really, other than Lauren Sinclair herself—that frustrated, helpless side of him, tired of putting up a front to everyone else. And he knew that if he didn’t go and blurt out the pile of uncomfortable truths to the Sergeant, maybe she wouldn’t have been dead. Maybe she wouldn’t have gone to Greychapel that night, and instead be waiting for him the next morning with a stern glare that showed her utmost disapproval for him. Maybe she would’ve worked as hard as she could to ensure his capture as the Purple Hyacinth, instead of risking her life for Lune. </p><p>         But he also wondered how, despite their dispute, she seemed to be fine as ever in the precinct. When he’d dropped the alarming truth regarding the possible explosion, she’d been stupefied, and yet she seemed to go on as if they weren’t all going to die in the near future. She’d been bright as ever the past two days; whenever he came over to the office, she was always bothering <em> some </em> officer, ignoring her pile of paperwork as usual. He wondered, for a moment, what else could she be hiding under her pretense, because if she could act that lively upon knowing that doom awaited them, she could act that way with any other knowledge one could possibly know. Plainly from the fact that she was daring enough to confront the Purple Hyacinth, he knew for sure that the prodigious Sergeant wasn’t a superficial woman who joked around for the likes of it.</p><p>         Then he thought: what if it wasn’t that she kept the pretense <em> in spite of </em> that knowledge? What if it was that she did so <em> because </em> of that knowledge? That because she knew that something bad might happen, that they might be dying soon, she decided to actually… enjoy the rest of her possibly short life? Because if her sacrifice told him anything, it was that she was fully prepared for the possibility of death. She would be foolish if she wasn’t, and he knew she was nothing close to foolish, especially not if she’d somehow managed to figure out that he was the Purple Hyacinth when no one else seemed to be able to. And if she knew she’d be dying, and yet still chose to sacrifice herself in such a way, without being acknowledged in any way, when she could’ve just—<em>killed </em> those Phantom Scythe members if she really wanted to—</p><p>         That, perhaps, was the best depiction of a compassionate human if he’d ever seen one. <em> This </em> was human.</p><p>         Kym Ladell was human, bravely and beautifully so.</p><p>         Though he’d take the blame for having been the cause of Kym Ladell’s death any day, as a rational man, he also knew that it wasn’t just his fault. Sure, maybe if he hadn’t gone and snapped and spilled more than necessary, none of this would’ve happened. But also, she always had a choice. She knew the full consequences of the action she wanted to take, and she took it nonetheless. She deserved to be attributed to that choice, deserved to be recognized for having made that choice, in hopes of a better future. She had <em> trusted </em> Lune to make a difference in the world, even when Lune themselves were struggling to believe so, even when she disagreed with Lune initially.</p><p>         And these people… these people were the ones they were fighting for. These people truly were the people who didn’t deserve living in such a demented world. They deserve to live in a world free of monsters. These people shouldn’t even have to make such a choice like Kym Ladell’s, to choose to suffer in silence or make a statement through death. These people should be given a right to choose their own lives without facing negative repercussions in either choice, unlike he who had no choice. Ardhalis needed dire saving.</p><p>         But for now, he knew that this world was just a dream. Until he and Lauren Sinclair manage to do anything about it, that was, and they were far from achieving that goal. There was still much for them to work on, including the groundworks of their rocky partnership, and their massive lack of information about the Phantom Scythe in general. But because of Kym Ladell, he dared to dream. He wanted to hope. He wanted to hold on to the belief that what he was doing, though requiring sacrifice—in part, of his own humanity, and many, many lives, he hoped that by him holding out a little bit more in his act as the Purple Hyacinth as cover for his personal research, they could one day reach that dream, a better Ardhalis, where <em> no one </em> had to live like him. If he had to be deemed a monster in the process, <em> so be it</em>. He’d already been beaten down so hard through the ground by the Phantom Scythe, there was no point in trying to herald himself as an angel. His home was Hell, and he’d burn the demons along with himself if it meant that no other poor soul would burn in the same Hell he did.</p><p>         When Kieran looked at himself in the mirror again, his eyes were softer, his eyebrows downturned, his mouth relaxed, lips slightly parted. He ran a hand through his hair, yanking off the hair tie from his damp hair. He ruffled his hair to shake the sweat away, and turned on the tap to splash his face with some cold water. Feeling slightly more refreshed, he turned off the tap and headed out of the bathroom, going to the locked door in his apartment.</p><p>         He unlocked the door, and entered the room full of sketches. He took a moment to immerse himself in whatever emotions he had, leaning back on his chair with eyes closed, his brain going over the past few days over and over again. He racked his mind for a visual memory of Kym Ladell that wasn’t of her death, the image failing to leave the forefront of his mind. </p><p>         He didn’t get one—but the moment he took his pencil and began drawing on the blank paper, his hands moved faster than his mind could. The strokes of graphite slowly turned into an image of Kym Ladell from a couple weeks back, eating a watermelon with so little grace, the watermelon juice dripping from the corner of her mouth. She was in mid-laughter over something Lauren had said, the memory being fresh in his mind because he rarely ever heard her joke around him anymore. Quite ironically, it was easy of him to draw a smile, even though he’d rarely ever seen one up close—the expressions of people he had ever gotten close to were usually of shocked ones, and even that didn’t last long. Perhaps that was why, more than anything, he tried to memorize the look of a smile, savoring every single one he saw, putting it on paper as soon as he could.</p><p>         When he saw the finished result, the smile of Kym Ladell in all her sunshine glory, black and white on paper under the faint moonlight, he smiled, softly, sadly. In a world that was rapidly losing hope, she made him want to hope. Her death, if anything, had only made him hope for more. Nothing could ever repay the sacrifice she’d made, but he would try. Try, as he’d always done his entire life.</p><p>         He’d try—for her, for Lauren, for the orphans of Greychapel, for the people of Ardhalis. But most of all—for the ones he’d loved and lost; he owed it to <em> them </em> to try.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Believe it or not, we were laughing when we planned this entire scene. It was supposed to be a sad one, but when Elle #1 reenacted the scene it was just like HUH (the shock) and HUH HAH HUH (the hyperventilating) and HUAAAH HAAAAAH (the sobbing/guttural screaming) and it looked entirely too hilarious for us not to laugh about. The outline for this chapter was full of incomprehensible onomatopoeic sounds in a mixture of English and Indonesian, our native language. We can only hope the chapter turned out as angsty as it was supposed to be.</p><p>Because Elle #1 is terrible at managing her life and Elle #2 actually has a social life unlike Elle #1, the next chapter will be out in three days instead of two. Besides, this chapter is particularly long, so enjoy the length (and maybe the pain?) over an extra day!</p><p><span class="celle">This is actually one of Elle #2’s favorite chapters of all! I just love how Elle #1 depict Kieran’s character. It’s just so beautiful and tragic.</span> <span class="ellie">As you might've expected, Elle #1 was the one who wrote the majority of this, because Sad Kieran Introspection is the number one thing on my job resume. (And it's also kinda like graphite, so I'm sorry about that lmao)</span> </p><p>What do you guys think? Leave us a comment to let us know what you think about this chapter! Thank you for patiently waiting for another chapter! Do remember that we love and appreciate you!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Obscure Revelation</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Lauren Sinclair had always been able to tell the lies, but now she is forced to face paramount truths.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <span class="ellie">7k words of actual plot with <b>fluff</b> instead of just angsty introspection? Even I cannot believe.</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="ellie">Alternatively titled: BUT LAUREN FUCKING SINCLAIR THIS BITCH IS SO INHERENTLY SELFISH—</span>
</p><p>
  <span class="ellie">As you can probably tell, I am tired of Lauren Sinclair's stupidity. Open your <b>eyes</b>, woman. PLEASE.</span>
</p><p>Sorry for the extremely long chapter. We hope you enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="timestamp">that night, 2 a.m.</span>
</p><p><span class="dropcap">L</span><span class="caps">auren Sinclair cursed the irony of her luck.</span> Perhaps, on a regular infiltration night spent with Kieran White, she’d have appreciated the empty halls when she arrived home at the crack of dawn. She’d always been easily scared by the fact that the people waiting for her in the manor—the maids, or worse, her uncle—would find out just exactly what she’d been doing when she was out on her “dates”, and what that would mean for her. The questions and the sneaky smiles she would have gotten—just the thought of it made her shudder. But this particular day, she’d much rather have them pamper her with questions about her physical or mental health, or even her nonexistent date that she’d just return from, just so she wouldn’t have to be alone for a while.</p><p>          She didn’t want to be alone with her thoughts, not really. She did not want to think of every possible implication of Kym Ladell’s death. She only said that she wanted to be alone to Kieran White because she knew she couldn’t be granted that luxury from him. Because as someone acquainted with death, it was much easier for him to digest that Kym was really dead, and was quicker on his feet to think of what to do. It was easier for Kieran to be rational about it, especially when Kym was no other than a coworker to him, and at the very most, her best friend, who he had once vowed to protect.</p><p>          And with Kieran White, she felt <em> too </em> vulnerable. It wasn’t the fact that he’d proven what he could do to her, that he could easily harm her; what struck her more now was the fact that Kieran <em> saw </em> Lauren in ways she didn’t even realize was her. He called her out for being the hypocrite she was, for her thoughts that she buried under her “moral justifications” for being mad at him. Kieran White understood Lauren quite better than she did herself, which scared her—the notion that she didn’t even have to say anything and he would hear her thoughts, which would most definitely <em> not </em> be fine and dandy, she did not want to deal with. She was tired, very much so; she could do without having to hear Kieran try to convince her that it was not her fault and having to argue the hell out of him—</p><p>          —because no matter how much he could tell her otherwise (and it wasn’t like he hadn’t said it himself quite literally), <em> she </em> had been the reason Kym Ladell was no longer alive.</p><p>          It wasn’t just the plain fact that Kym had sacrificed herself for Lune. It was because of her selfishness, even from before she had met the Purple Hyacinth. It was this self-destructive behavior, of her bottling up all her emotions inside, that led to what felt like a lack of trust between their friendship. And yet Kym kept trying, reminding her to let go of her pain, that it was okay to move on, without prying too much into what had actually happened. Kym always did whatever she could within the boundaries that had been set into their relationship. Lauren, however, kept on shrinking, keeping to herself instead of reaching out, never much trying to care about Kym either. </p><p>          Things definitely turned for the worse when she found the Purple Hyacinth that one night. She could’ve just as easily come up to her best friends and told them the truth. Even if not <em> for </em> the law, she could’ve talked with them to work something out, to get some external advice so that she does the best thing. Except, she was unbelievably selfish and so fixated on the fact that she might possibly get what she had wanted for so long—and began to ignore everyone around her to get that. So she made her decision without conferring with her friends. Even then, she had so many chances to tell them about what was going on, and she never did. <em> For good reason</em>, she wanted to justify, that reason being that she was concerned for their safety. But if Kieran White were there with her at every moment, he’d probably voice out the deeply buried nasty truth: she was more worried about what they would think of her, what they would say to her, what they would <em> do</em>, as opposed to their safety. She was much more concerned about <em> her </em> safety.</p><p>          Even though the path to her room was empty, with everyone asleep in their respective bedrooms, Lauren Sinclair took awhile to get to her room. It was not what she would have done; it’d be best if she could get to her room as quickly and undetected as possible, so as to not run into a possible altercation with anyone in the house. But her feet were heavy as she dragged herself up the stairs to her room. Her grip on the railing was strong, propelling her body that could collapse any moment. Despite her physical exertions, she was soundless in her tracks, her face dry of the tears that had welled up in her earlier. It was only about time when it’ll come out of her again, but for now she had to make sure she could at least cry in solitude. Though she would much rather <em> not </em> cry, her unfortunate luck has stripped her of all possible distractions, slamming her head face first into reality.</p><p>          The first thing she did when she finally got in her room was to crumble against the shut door of her room. She was worn out from everything: the lack of sleep, the long day at work, the infiltration at Greychapel, the unexpected death, and all the feelings that came along. Funnily enough the thing that tired her the most was probably her emotions, that weighed her down so much to a physical point. She wanted to fall asleep immediately, feeling like her body could betray her any second, but she was still in the dirty clothes she wore throughout the night. She stripped herself off it with languid hands, before lifting herself off the ground with great effort to walk over to the bathroom to shower. She could use a nice, warm shower at the moment.</p><p>          Unfortunately, her thoughts don’t escape her, even as she tries to relax under the warmth of the running water. She’d had one too many arguments these days, ones she kept losing. From mini bickers with William Hawkes, to Kieran White babysitting her on duty, and the one that hit the most—Kym Ladell, worried over her life, even when she was supposed to be able to stay strong for herself. And in each of these arguments, they always made valid points, points that she ignored because she didn’t like the truth. </p><p>          For someone who was so hell bent on knowing the truth, she sure spent so much time trying to avoid it.</p><p>          She fisted her hands, which rested against the wall. She was mad at herself for not having ever listened to the people around her. And now, it was too late. She couldn’t undo the time and go back to when she could’ve still made amends. Maybe if she’d have listened to Kym, and have taken some time to talk to her, to <em> apologize </em> instead of passively watching her with guilt for an entire day, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. Sure, maybe Kym would’ve tried to stop her from working with the Purple Hyacinth. But maybe she could’ve told Kym the full truth, now that she knows anyway that Lauren was working with the Purple Hyacinth. Maybe she could tell Kym at least why she stuck with him—after all, she wouldn’t have stuck with him after that incident in the cave, if not for their common goal, the goal that was beyond either of them to do alone. If worst comes to worst, Kym would still be against her working with Kieran White, but she’d try to help in regards to the explosion. She knows Kym; she was definitely more understanding than Lauren herself could ever be. And then, maybe, Kym wouldn’t have to follow her without her knowledge, watching her back. Maybe then, they could’ve been working side by side. Maybe then, if they had to die, then they’d at least die together—</p><p>          And selfishly she added, in her mind, because eventually, Lauren was a selfish person in nature: <em> they’d at least die together, and she wouldn’t have to live alone with the guilt</em>.</p><p>          The thought of her selfish thought made her hate herself even more, and so she tried to think of Kym. But whenever she thought of Kym, she’d think of all the ways she’d failed her, and her utter selfishness that had been the cause of everything. Then she’d hate herself more, then she’d think of everything else… and the cycle went on.</p><p>          By the time she realized she was in this endless spiral, she was already on the ground, naked body pressed against the cold tiles, as the showerhead poured water on her like hail. Hot tears were streaming down her cheeks without her knowing. Croaky sobs escaped her throat in spurts, sending her entire body into violent jerks every time. She cried until she lost her voice. Her chest was strained from the sobs and her throat ached, stinging every time air so much as passed through it. The muscles on her back stretched as she slouched over her knee. She leaned back against the wall, letting the water hit her face like needles. She didn’t mind. She deserved to feel every pain and more, though she was too numb to feel anything. </p><p>          Nonetheless, her biological instincts took over, and hauled her all the way to her bed. Given everything that happened over the last 24 hours, it was easy for her body to power down as soon as she flopped on the warm covers, eyes fluttering shut upon the contact with warmth. She was fast asleep.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="timestamp">that night, 3 a.m.</span>
</p><p><span class="dropcap">H</span> <span class="caps">er mind, however, had other plans.</span></p><p>          Lauren Sinclair woke up to another nightmare. In this one, for once, she wasn’t in the train station. She was in the precinct.</p><p>          It was just like any other day. She came into the office, relatively early. The 7 a.m. sun was shining a slanted golden glow through the precinct’s windows, casting halos on the crown of people’s heads. There weren’t many people, but there was the ever early William Hawkes, already working on some paperwork with a semi-empty coffee mug by his hand. </p><p>          When Lauren entered the room, William greeted her with the brightest smile, one that rivalled even the beautiful sun. “Hey Lauren! How was your night?” He asked in good manner.</p><p>          “It was great, thanks!” Lauren replied, beaming. She didn’t feel tired at all, so perhaps she hadn’t gone on her late night “dates” with Kieran White. She probably hadn’t had a nightmare, either. She made her way towards her desk more energetically than she ever would in real life, ready to tackle the pile of papers on her desk, finish them as soon as possible, and go back home to a nice dinner with her uncle. “How was yours? Haven’t had much of a chance to hang out with you, lately.”</p><p>          “Oh, s’all good,” William shrugged, waving his hand with nonchalance. “I’ve been spending a little more alone in my apartment, playing the piano. It’s a nice break from everything that’s been going on.”</p><p>          “That’s good to hear!” Lauren exclaimed, her eyes crinkling into half-crescents. “I should come over one of these days, to hear you play.”</p><p>          “Maybe you could sing, too,” William suggested, brows raised, a reminiscent smile on his lips. “It’s been a while since we’ve done one of our classic duets.”</p><p>          Lauren laughed softly, looking down at her lap. “Ah, the good old days,” she muttered, followed by a light chuckle from the Lieutenant himself. </p><p>          The airy aura of the office was then interrupted by the door opening, and the extremely loud laughter that filled the office before the source herself entered within eyesight: Kym Ladell, accompanied by her boisterous laughter and a Kieran White, nervously chuckling under her strong, invisible grip.</p><p>          “Come on, Mr. Hot Archivist, you can’t be serious when you said you haven’t done anything with Lauren Sinclair lately. I mean, have you seen her?” Right at that moment, Kym pointed at Lauren before even seeing her, an elated expression fixated on Kieran. “She looks <em> way </em> too happy and too light lately, like she’s actually <em> sleeping </em> for a change. And you know she doesn’t sleep. The only sleeping she does is when she’s with <em> men</em>, I feel, but I’m sure you’ve replaced that collective noun with your singular presence.”</p><p>          Lauren and Kieran himself broke into a series of coughs. Meanwhile, an entirely too innocent William Hawkes was choking on his coffee, spitting it out in a manner slightly less than graceful. This caught the other officers’ attention instead, including that of Kym’s. </p><p>          Being her usual self, immediately she proceeded on to tease the Lieutenant instead: “Aw, what’s up, <em> Willame</em>? Can’t handle the thought of your childhood bestie having fun with someone else?” Then she seemed to realize what she had said, and made a face. “Wait, no, that sounded wrong.”</p><p>          “Your entire existence is wrong,” William muttered offhandedly, his good mood—along with his prim and proper image—ruined very easily by the witty Sergeant. </p><p>          Kym Ladell, sharp as always, caught the silently uttered words. “I exist to spite you, Hawkes,” she retorted, poking her tongue out. It took Will all his patience to refrain from throwing his pen at her. Lauren laughed at the sight of her best friends, which garnered Kym’s attention once more.</p><p>          “Ah, but back to the interesting anomaly that is Lauren Sinclair, instead of the predictable William Hawkes. This woman—this woman, who I’ve never so much as seen a <em> smile </em> from, is actually <em> laughing</em>—and what else could have brought about such a revolutionary change, if not for the equally as revolutionary existence of Kieran White himself?” Kym Ladell scoffs. “I mean, have you heard Hermann heralding his name, for his contributions to the previously messy archives? If our finicky captain praises this man so much, you can bet he’s a pretty extraordinary person.”</p><p>          The Lauren in her dream rolled her eyes. <span class="lies">“I wasn’t even with him last night, Kym. </span> Stop attributing all my emotions to him alone. <span class="lies"> I just had a good night's sleep, is all.”</span> The Lauren in real life realized that she had, in fact, spent the night with Kieran, unlike what she initially believed. Why she had to lie to her friends about it, she wasn’t quite sure…</p><p>          “Sure,” Kym said with a knowing smirk. “You don’t have to tell us about it, Lauren. It’s not like we don’t already know.”</p><p>          Those words—when she heard those words, her gut churned, turning sour. She wasn’t too sure why, at first.</p><p>          “I think I might need some coffee to deal with your suggestive ass this morning,” Lauren declared, standing up from her desk. </p><p>          Kym was quick to refute. “No, no, Lauren, you stay and converse with this fine man right here as he collects the paperwork. I haven’t started working anyway, so I’ll get you a mug of coffee. Does anyone else want coffee? Lukas, I know you’ll have one. Lila?” And she proceeded to ask every officer other than William, who simply rolled his eyes.</p><p>          “I—I can go instead,” Lauren was saying, but her voice was quickly drowned by the other officers’ replies to the Sergeant. She sighed, marvelling at how her best friend was always so kind and supportive to everybody else, putting herself last in line.</p><p>          Real Life Lauren tossed and turned in her sleep, feeling restless as the dream went on.</p><p>          Dream Kym leaned in to Lauren’s ear and whispered, “You make sure to use this opportunity, Lauren. Or I <em> will </em> be disappointed in you.”</p><p>          Real Life Lauren froze in her sleep, paralyzed upon the words. They had been the last words Kym had actually spoken to her before she died.</p><p>          When Kym left the office to get coffee for the officers, Lauren simply resumed her paperwork. William was muttering under his breath about Kym disrupting the productive environment yet again, while Kieran White did his daily round of collecting the finished paperwork from the officers’ desks, piling them up on his trolley. When he reached Lauren’s desk, Lauren said nothing to him, and Real Life Lauren knew that even in her dreams, there wasn’t a moment in which she was not even the slightest tense when it came to Kieran White. </p><p>          She’d passed on the opportunity to talk to Kieran, not that she knew what to say to him.</p><p>          Maybe she should’ve said anything to him anyway, because when Kieran opened the door of the office to leave, he was halfway when he jerked, his eyes wide upon whatever he saw. Nobody else seemed to notice, all busy in their own work, nobody but her. Kieran White looked back, his wide cerulean eyes boring into her own, propelling her to walk over to him to see what exactly had perplexed him so much. </p><p>          She pushed Kieran aside to step into the hallway—</p><p>          —but the hallway was no longer the same hallway she had entered. It was the precinct hallway, but burned down in rubble. The ceiling had collapsed, and was replaced with towers of smoke. There was massive fire, but the soot was making the place darker rather than bright. She felt suffocated—whether it was because of the walls or the dense smoke, she did not know—but it was hard to breathe, both for Dream Lauren and Real Life Lauren. Her eyes were blurry, whether from the clouds of smoke, or from the tears welling up in her eyes—probably both. </p><p>          With hesitant steps, she made her way forward, trying to see for herself what exactly had happened. Among the rubble, she found a stranded golden watch, glinting under the low orange light of the fire burning nearby.</p><p>          Lauren screamed. She didn’t know whether it was her in the dream, or whether she had screamed in real life. (It was both—but in real life, no sound came out of her throat.)</p><p>          Dream Lauren didn’t want to believe it yet, though. She picked up the watch, and began calling for Kym. She trudged through the pile of rubble, trying to see for any sign of Kym anywhere, but all she saw were half burnt bodies, and oddly, corpses with a limb cut off from the body. Bodies that weren’t intact, spread through the precinct. None had been sliced on the neck.</p><p>          Real life Lauren brought up a hand to her bare neck. She wasn’t quite sure if she could even breathe, at the moment.</p><p>          She couldn’t stand the sight. She couldn’t stand the revelation of the truth. So she turned back, but instead of finding Kieran White, she was looking at William Hawkes. He was looking at her with rage, one she had never expected to see in William—but even worse, she had never seen <em> anyone </em> with a rage like this. And she would know all about wrath—given that it dominated her more often than not.</p><p>          “How <em> could </em> you?” William seethed. </p><p>          Lauren took a step back, but she stumbled over a brick. She fell, and the corner of the brick impaled her thigh. She didn’t mind the imaginary pain. Her eyes were fixated on William’s, which were nearly obsidian, a shade nowhere near his calming ocean eyes. </p><p>          “I—I didn’t mean to—”</p><p>          “Stop <em> lying </em> to us!” William spat, while still trying to maintain his stoic composure. It was a deadly kind of calm, and Lauren was <em> terrified </em>. “Aren’t you tired? Of hiding behind your selfish lies? Isn’t it ironic, that the one who can distinguish lie from truth, in turn, uses the lie as a shield against us?” He began taking slow steps towards her, and she struggled to shuffle backwards, given the rocky state of where she was sitting upon. </p><p>          “You have always been so adamant on discovering the truth. Your blood boils every time you hear a lie, and yet it doesn’t matter when <em> you’re </em> the one saying them,” a voice spoke, but it wasn’t William’s voice. Lauren looked to the side to see Kieran White, clad in the outfit he was wearing earlier in real life. “What does that make you, if not a hypocrite, Lauren?”</p><p>          “I—I’m sorry—” Lauren whimpered. “I didn’t mean to—”</p><p>          “Of course you didn’t mean to. You just never <em> think </em> before you act, do you?” William stated coldly. The fact that it was the truth sent a harder pang to Lauren’s chest. “And now she’s dead,” William concluded. “What will you do about that? What <em> can </em> you do about that?”</p><p>          “You’re powerless, Lauren. Your ability doesn’t make you any better than anyone.”</p><p>          “No,” Lauren argued defiantly, the way she always did. She shook her head vigorously. “No, I don’t believe you. She’s not dead. She could’ve just dropped her watch. She could be here, somewhere. None of these bodies were her. She could be—” she had turned around, and before her was a Kym Ladell, very much— </p><p>          “—alive.”</p><p>          Kym was smiling at her, as if she hadn’t done anything wrong. </p><p>          But Real Lauren soon discovered that she hadn’t done anything wrong <em> yet </em>. Dream Lauren had somehow gotten a sword in her hands, and was beginning to lift the sword up. Real Lauren watched through Dream Lauren’s eyes in horror as she lifted the sword to the side, before slicing Kym’s neck in one blow, the steel blade cutting through layers of skin, muscle, and organs cleanly. The scene played out in an excruciating slow motion in Lauren’s mind, but there was nothing she could do about it in a semi-conscious state—nothing other than watch helplessly as the tragedy played on.</p><p>          Blood splattered everywhere, including onto Lauren’s outfit—which had changed into that of the one she was wearing before. The Sergeant’s head rolled over to the ground, and Lauren winced as the head bled more from the cut caused by the bricks beneath it. Just as she was about to turn away from the gory sight, Kym’s eyes began to flutter open again, and Lauren could only watch petrified as Kym began to open her mouth and croak out the words with glaring clarity: “I’m not mad at you, Lauren. I’m just disappointed.”</p><p>          “I’m sorry,” Lauren sobbed. She seemed to keep apologizing only when it no longer mattered. When the damage had been done.</p><p>          Nothing, though, could bring her as much pain as the next words she heard, said by not only one, but two very familiar voices—voices that she now could only hear through her dreams, voices that would haunt her for the rest of her life—“I know you never meant to kill me.”</p><p>          She woke up with a face dampened by tears, and a scream muffled by her own throat. She couldn’t seem to let out a single voice. Her fingers clawed against her chest, where her heart lay underneath, wanting to just rip out the pain already. But perhaps she’d been quite focused on the wrong organ, because it wasn’t just her heart that had been the major cause of her excruciating pain.</p><p>          It was her brain, fabricating Kym Ladell’s death in such a twisted manner that was ironically a little too true for her liking. It was her brain that pointed out to her the dreadful fact that—</p><p>          —that she had, again, repeated the mistake of her past, when she’d been so focused on trying <em> not </em> to. That she had, again, allowed someone to die for her, when she <em> knew </em> she could’ve prevented it. When there were so many chances for her to prevent it, but she ignored them all in blissful selfishness.</p><p>          It had been a decade. She’d grown older, tougher, but apparently, none the wiser. She began to wonder whether anything she’d been doing held any meaning at all. Whether time even passed, because she still seemed to remain the same: the foolish twelve-year-old Lauren who didn’t know any better. </p><p>          Lauren Sinclair truly was the blindest of all.</p><p>          After the nightmare, she no longer dared sleep. Her conscious mind was terrible enough at haunting her, but seeing vivid reconstructions of Kym Ladell <em> and </em> Dylan Rosenthal’s death in various forms was something she did not want to go through ever again, if she could. So she did the next best thing she could think of: she thought of Kym Ladell. She walked down the path of memories from her first meeting with Kym. She smiled for a split second upon remembering that Kym’s entrance into her life was through a window, quite literally. Immediately it was followed by the quivering of lips and rushing of tears down her chin. Snot began to clog her nose, and she fumbled to grab a handkerchief to blow her nose. </p><p>          Her next though, instead of the next memory she had, was of a recent interaction in regards to that memory: the last time Kym had walked through a window—<em> her </em> window, to be precise, and her eyes immediately drifted to that very window—she’d said, “The day I make a normal entrance, assume I’m dying.”</p><p>          She didn’t know whether it was pure coincidence, or the gods’ mockery, that when Kym Ladell came to the precinct the day before, she hadn’t said or done anything that was out of the normal for regular people, but it was very abnormal for her. She’d just come in, her face betraying no mood in particular, avoiding Lauren’s gaze on the way to her desk—which was understandable, as they’d just had an altercation the day before. No one was there to point out her weird behavior, as there was no one other than Lauren herself (there had been William, but he’d just left to grab himself some water). Even when William entered, Kym didn’t tease him as much as he did normally, the argument clearly taking as much of a toll on Kym as it did on Lauren herself.</p><p>          In a satirical way, it was hilarious how much she’d underestimated time. She never would’ve thought her opportunity to repair a broken two-year relationship was within a one-day window. And again, she blamed herself for this foolishness, especially when time’s trickery should have been clear to her at this point. Everything was about time—from a decade ago, the foolery of the Phantom Scythe in mixing up the dates and the two lies she heard regarding the wrong time, and now, the ticking time bomb leading up to the palpable bomb in a few weeks time. It had always been about time, and yet…</p><p>          She got out of bed and headed out of her room. For the first time in a while, she decided to revisit her mother’s garden, which though regularly tended by the maids, she hadn’t personally gone out and stayed in for some time. When she went out of the house and into the garden, she was greeted by the harsh cold winter air and the soft glow of moonlight. She paid not much mind to the weather, dressed in simply her nightgown as she traversed the paths in the garden, admiring every flower that she passes by, even if she couldn’t see the colors clearly in the dark. She briefly stopped upon the sight of daisies, and smiled to herself in reminiscence.</p><p>          But thinking of daisies made her think of the flower crown of daisies Dylan Rosenthal had taught her to make, and thinking of him led to thinking of her boundless regret.</p><p>          When she passed by the purple hyacinths, she remembered the moment where Dylan was about to tell her about purple hyacinths and their flower meaning, but never getting the chance to. And then she thought of the Purple Hyacinth—Kieran White, who was clearly using the flower for more than just a statement to the royals.</p><p><span class="lies">          “I have no regrets,”</span> he had lied, on their very first encounter.</p><p>          Was that, perhaps, what the flowers meant? Kieran White truly was a paradoxical man; killing yet not wanting to kill, immoral yet being moral than most. Despite the brutality of which he was known for, he had been telling the truth when he’d said he wanted to find and kill the leader. He’d been more aware than she was of the dire conditions of the south shore, and of how blind she was as a privileged child. Yet, instead he chose to fight for a civil revolution, instead of playing the side of the terrorists.</p><p>          The only confirmation she really needed, really, disregarding all this, was that he seemed to care for her, even though she was sure a monster like him could never care for anyone else. Not when he’d taken so many lives. It was the one thing that proved to her—maybe he wasn’t as much of a monster she thought he was.</p><p>          Maybe he’d understand this nasty feeling of regret that haunted her for a decade, and will haunt her for the rest of her life. Maybe he’d know what to do.</p><p>          Before thinking too much about it, Lauren’s feet were already on the move again; light as a bird, skipping steps on the stairs, she made her way to her bedroom and got changed into a casual fit. After packing her uniform in a bag, she slipped out of the manor. She walked hastily from shadow to shadow, battling the fierce winds, with the moon as her sole company.</p><p> </p><p>
  <span class="timestamp">that night, 4 a.m.</span>
</p><p><span class="dropcap">S</span><span class="caps">he wasn’t surprised when Kieran White opened the door within a few seconds of her knocking it.</span> He didn’t look as miserable as Lauren herself was, spare the fact that he seemed to not be able to catch any sleep, either.</p><p>          He didn’t look surprised to see her, either. He merely sighed, as if he’d expected her to come at one point. Holding the door for her, he said nothing as Lauren entered the apartment like she’d been there often, when in fact it had been a while since she’d actually been in his apartment, or even his cave. Ever since the cave incident, they made sure that they stay their separate ways outside of the precinct and aside from their nightly excursions, to avoid a repeat of the incident. They had been trying to be as professional as they could, separating their personal lives from this job they were undertaking. </p><p>          But it became clear that night—to her, at least; he’d probably realized it long before she did—that there was a reason Lauren stuck with Kieran White out of all people. They were so similar and yet so different, but their differences complement each other best. Lauren’s hot temperament against Kieran’s cold, composed calculations, Lauren’s ability to hear lies and Kieran who could call out a facade when he saw one, Lauren being all serious and straightforward against Kieran’s primal instinct to snark and smirk. The way they dealt with the same issues from different standpoints, but with similar beliefs—it was what made their partnership effective. And it had, in an unspoken pact, extended to beyond a purely business partnership that night, after they’d witnessed a tragedy too heavy to bear alone. </p><p>          He was the only other person that could understand her pain to any extent, and she, to him. As independent as she’d like to believe she was, the truth was, she’d be completely, utterly lost without him.</p><p>          “You haven’t been able to sleep, too,” Kieran stated, more than asked. He didn’t need to, but he probably didn’t know what to say to her. </p><p>          Lauren wasted no time beating around the bush. “What do I do?” she croaked, her voice no emotion, but her face betraying the immense lethargy she was feeling. </p><p>          Kieran closed the door softly, raising an eyebrow at her question. “Hm?” he simply hummed.</p><p>          “What do I do now?” she reiterated, because she didn’t want to bother explaining herself. </p><p>          “Why, exactly, did you come to ask me?” Kieran asked amusedly, even if his face wasn’t so enthused. It was hard to curl up their lips, even sarcastically, given what they’d just gone through.</p><p>          “You… you’ve dealt with this, I assume,” Lauren said in a soft voice, as she had no energy to speak normally. “You’ve dealt with deaths you regret. You said that the night we met.”</p><p>          “You seem to have acute memory when it comes to lies.”</p><p>          Lauren did not bother replying. Clearly Kieran was trying to make the air less tense, but it wasn’t going to work. Not when she was dead set on trying to fix her mistake. Somehow. </p><p>          “But you’re right,” he said, sighing. “I’m well acquainted with your current emotion.”</p><p>          Before he could go on, Lauren shot the question that plagued her mind since her being in the garden: “Is that what the purple hyacinth meant? Regret?”</p><p>          Kieran’s eyes drifted to the door, the one that had been locked the last time she was in the apartment. His jaw clenched, but he nodded anyways. </p><p>          Lauren let out a heavy sigh. As much as she’d like to pity him for having to kill so much of those people and regret his murders, she couldn’t feel much, other than slight relief that <em> someone </em> at least understood her pain. “How do you live with it?” Lauren asked. “How do you go about, pretending like you don’t feel the regret?”</p><p>          Kieran shook his head. “I don’t pretend much,” he admitted. “I told you the night of the deal: I walk in broad daylight as myself.”</p><p>          “And yourself is…”</p><p>          Kieran’s eyes darted around the room before landing on the ground. “Just the man you’re looking at now.”</p><p>          This prompted her to take a good look at him, instead of wallowing in self pity. She noticed the way the skin on his forehead wrinkled from the stress of thinking too much, the way his jaw kept on tensing and relaxing, the way he shifted his feet once every few seconds, his thumb kept rubbing his red knuckles—</p><p>          “Have you been drawing?” Lauren asked with wide eyes, her voice barely a whisper. </p><p>          It took a while, but when Kieran looked at Lauren it was with so much rawness, so much sincerity that it <em> hurt</em>. Never would she have thought she could feel pain for someone other than herself, but there she was, hurting over seeing Kieran being so himself. Clearly, even if Kym wasn’t the closest to Kieran, her death had impacted her in ways more than a casual accident could cause. </p><p>          Kieran nodded slowly. “It’s… it’s the way I cope.”</p><p>          “Cope?”</p><p>          “You asked what to do,” Kieran said, his gaze beginning to shift into a stern look. “You need to let your grief out in some healthy way, rather than blame yourself repeatedly. I know you’re doing just that, regretting everything as if it was your fault she died, when you didn’t do anything.”</p><p>          “It was <em> because </em> I hadn’t done anything that she died,” Lauren argued. Kieran wasn’t bothered by her interruption—after all, he of all people knew just how much Lauren could argue to defend her cause. </p><p>          “Nevertheless—you cannot ignore the fact that ultimately, it had been <em> her </em> decision to sacrifice herself for us,” Kieran said bluntly, “for <em> you</em>. And I’m not saying it’s her <em> fault </em> she died, because if we started pointing fingers, we wouldn’t have enough fingers to put the blame on everyone truly responsible for this. I’m saying you shouldn’t be taking responsibility that she died, because she had already taken that responsibility for herself when she <em> chose </em> to take the shot.”</p><p>          Lauren didn’t say much, but she was still stubborn in the belief that she could have made a difference. If only she hadn’t been so stuck up as to not apologize first… If only she had made the effort to talk to Kym, to amend their relationship… She never even got to tell Kym how much she really meant to her—those words she’d held back regarding how, in the end, Kym was always her first choice, but she was plainly a coward who couldn’t stand losing anyone else, and because of it, she <em> did </em> end up losing her anyway—</p><p>          She wanted to cry again, but she saw Kieran. And even though Kieran was being quite transparent with her, she didn’t want him to see her cry for the nth time that day, so she tried to maintain an impassive face. “Okay,” Lauren simply agreed for the sake of an argumentless conversation. She moved on, “How do I make sure that… that I don’t make it too apparent that I know she’s dead when I go to the precinct later?”</p><p>          Kieran pondered a while over it, pursing his lips. Then he took a good look at her. “You’re not so different from your usual self. I mean, minus the bloodshot eyes. Maybe get some rest for a while, so you get the red away from your eyes. You can always explain eyebags and your general dead-looking expression as lack of sleep, because that’d be truth anyway. I know others may not have your ability, but it’s better to stick to half-truths anyway; people call out bluffs and inconsistencies easily, and you’ll definitely be on the lookout as one of Lune’s suspects.”</p><p>          Lauren nodded. Kieran was definitely thinking much more rationally that she could at the moment. <em> Coming here is definitely the best idea I’ve had all week</em>, she thought to herself in irony. Never would she have thought that <em> Kieran </em> would be a solution to any of her problems. It was comic, considering that Kieran had been the solution to <em> plenty </em> of her problems. She just didn’t like the idea.</p><p>          “This may be hard to do, but instead of focusing on the death, think more about what we went to Greychapel for. Or anything related to Seven’s op and the nitro. You’ll get tired thinking about it, which makes your exhaustion <em> real </em> . And then, when your captain drops the news, you don’t react immediately. Refuse to believe it’s real, the way you did earlier. Get lost in your thoughts, ignore the world, hold your emotions until you get somewhere <em> alone</em>. You can excuse yourself. They’d understand your need for space.”</p><p>          “And what, exactly, should we do about the nitro? What <em> can </em> we do?” Lauren asked, because she agreed—she’d much rather be better off spending her energy thinking about the future tragedy than wallow further in her sentiments. But that was one of the reasons why she came to Kieran in the first place: Kieran had a much better idea of what they could do in their time outside of hands-on searches, and given her very befuddled mind at the moment, she couldn’t think of anything with much clarity. </p><p>          Kieran sighed, running a hand through his hair, falling messily over his shoulders. He leaned against the door, and said, “There’s not much, I admit. We did find that entrance, but I doubt looking into it would be a good idea now, considering not only will the cops be keeping watch of the area, but also the Phantom Scythe will be trying to trail us in any way possible. I think for now it’d be best if you don’t do any stakeouts at all; I still have a relatively anonymous identity, so I’ll try to use that as much as I can.”</p><p>          “I can’t just <em> sit still</em>, Kieran,” Lauren groaned. “We’re running out of time, as you might’ve realized.”</p><p>          “I know we’re pressed for time, but don’t let the anxiety of what happened get to you. Do what you <em> can </em> do, and take comfort in knowing that you tried,” Kieran reassured her. “If your root is regret in not doing what you should’ve done, then if you do what you should do, you shouldn’t regret it. And unfortunately, you have to keep silent for the moment, because otherwise you’d blow your cover, they’d capture us, and all that we’ve been doing—including Kym’s sacrifice—would go to waste. So <em> please </em>, try to restrain yourself for as long as this investigation process is going on. Knowing the nature of the murder and the lack of capability of the APD, it’ll take a while before they pin it on someone, or just file it away as unsolved. You’re gonna have to work from the inside until then.”</p><p>          Lauren could only sigh. She knew everything Kieran was saying was true. She hated to hear it, but she needed to start facing the truth. She had to harden her heart if she wanted to get to the end of this, if she <em> truly </em> wanted to redeem herself, avenge those she’d lost to the Phantom Scythe. She vowed to make them pay, and she <em> must </em>. For the citizens of Ardhalis, for Dylan Rosenthal, for— for Kym Ladell.  If it meant changing a part of herself, so be it. There wasn’t a thing she wouldn’t do to get what she wanted, and now that Kym, her best friend, was dead, she had all the more reason to stay motivated at her goal.</p><p>          Maybe one day she’d realize, why Kieran White was the way he was. Maybe one day, she’d stop calling him a monster—by watching herself turn into one.</p><p>          But for now, she didn’t want to ponder about skewed morals and actions. Kieran walked over to her, took a good look at her face, and concluded that she needed to get some rest, before what was inevitably going to be a strenuous day. “Get some sleep,” he said softly. He stroked his hand lightly against her head, his thumb reaching to cover her left eyelid. Instinctively, her eyelids fluttered shut, and she could feel the blood run down her eyelids, spreading warmth that she’d lost from all the crying.</p><p>          “I can’t,” she whispered, broken.</p><p>          Kieran didn’t need to ask. He, too, had his own set of pasts, his own set of traumas, enough to know what she was going through. “I’ll be with you when anything happens,” he promised, his voice just as silent. “You heard the truth. You’re… you’re not alone.”</p><p>          Funny how, out of all the people on the earth, she ended up sharing this burden with Kieran White as well. Giving him one last teary stare as he seated himself next to her on the couch, she finally allowed her eyes to close, succumbing to the darkness. She leaned her head against his chest and listened to the slow rhythm of his heartbeat, breathing, <em> alive</em>, as she fell asleep to another restless night.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>You ALL have to be SO DAMN grateful: we have decided to give Fluff instead of the classic angst, angst, angst. Elle #1 definitely did not expect to go down this road (the 3 &amp; 4 a.m. sections were completely impromptu, prompted by her morning brain high.) </p><p><span class="ellie">My high also so kindly provided me with accidentally typing William Sinclair and Kym Sinclair. Midday_Giggle was so kind to analyze this and tell me that my brain is telling me to make Kieran Sinclair a thing. (Maybe that’s why the Lauki fluff at the end happened—) ANYWAY, no more calling me angst lord—Elle #2 has converted me into keeping this fluff, so here you have it!</span> <span class="celle">This fluff is a gift for the readers, so that for once, you’ll feel happy reading our fic :) Too much angst is not good for the heart, dear.</span></p><p>This was definitely longer than expected (7k words. Literally), and much more positive than expected—we thought Lauren was gonna go far down the rabbit hole of self loath alone, but apparently not. <span class="ellie">Fun fact: it’s just that Elle #1 was tired of Lauren’s stupid introspection LMAO</span> Unfortunately this would probably mean… you know what, infer that for yourself. The next chapter will be posted in either three or four days, because this one’s even longer than the previous one—but really, because we don’t know if we can get it done by three days. Our time zones are so far apart that when one Elle sleeps, the other one is awake. We can only communicate on mornings or late nights. That’s how it is now that we both live in different continents. :”)</p><p>Thank you for reading another chapter of Silent Nightingale! ‘Till next time, see you!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Pernicious Interlude</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>William Hawkes keeps up the act under the spotlight, except now he bends the light to his will.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ToWj_4xvVZA&amp;list=PLSg8fSjbuce7fggGiPkOsFIp5aQoHj8Ov">For better experience</a>. Maybe.</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <em>It’s payback time.</em>
  </b>
</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="timestamp">that night, 4 a.m.</span>
</p>
<p><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="caps">illiam Hawkes was the type of person who would go to bed before midnight and wake up just in time for sunrise.</span> It was taught as a child and grew into a habit over time, reasons changing as the seasons passed. He’d get as much sleep as he could in the night, and wake up energized enough to power through as much work as he could in the day.</p>
<p>          He did not quite know when this ritual seemed to be disrupted. It was true that he’d had an increasing amount of workload to do, but it was expected given his position in the police force. He’d managed to work his schedules in a way that he gets everything done and still gets enough sleep at night, adapting even when he had been promoted to Lieutenant and gotten an influx of work on his shoulders. Above all, he’d always made the time to visit his mother, even if he was busy, even if more often than not, he’d feel worse coming out than in his family mansion. He’d maintained a considerably effective system, and systems weren’t normally built to self-destruct. It was either there was something wrong with the system that he’d been trying to maintain for his entire life, or that there was an external disruption that had caused so.</p>
<p>          When <em> had </em> he begun becoming so, so much more tired than he already was? He wasn’t sure yet, but he needed to find out, in order to pull out that weed from his already hectic enough life. He needed to deal with whatever that was, otherwise one of these days his body would fail him, and he’d have to face even worse consequences for not being able to uphold his duty, his position, his status—</p>
<p>          His pretense. Above everything, he needed to maintain his pretense, because if he was gone… there was no telling when <em> she’d </em> be gone.</p>
<p>          That singular thought had managed to snake into his sleep again, waking him up at the crack of dawn. He’d seen his mother’s hand, once gracing the piano with ease, then beginning to melt and fade into a limp, lifeless limb, unable to serve any more purpose. He wanted to at least hold on to a hand, but he found himself awake, clutching the blankets in a tight grip. He didn’t pay much attention to the tears leaking through the corner of his left eye. He was, again, drowning in the thoughts of his mother, of a time where everything had been brighter, where she had graced her presence in their mansion, their <em> home</em>, through her liveliness and melodic tunes.</p>
<p>          When he knew he wouldn’t be going back to sleep again, William forced himself out of bed. He was walking to the study room, but he noticed how dark it was inside. Usually, he took advantage of the sun rays through the windows, but now the sun was still in her slumber. He headed downstairs instead, turning on some lights, and settled on the piano.</p>
<p>          It was one of the reasons why he hated waking before sunrise: William loved the sun. He loved the soft gold of the sunlight in the morning and the evening. He didn’t mind the blinding lights that struck at noon. He loved light, but especially the sun, because the light reveals things as they actually are. Things reflect their actual color in the presence of light. In the shadows, everything blends into gray. Even the supposedly ivory keys turn to gray in the absence of light.</p>
<p>          And when he slides a tentative hand over those keys, he couldn’t help think of his mother again, and her cloudy gray eyes. Those clouds that blocked out the light in her eyes. At least, in the powerful light of the sun, those clouds look less solid, and he could imagine a semblance of life in her.</p>
<p>          He slowly pressed his fingers down the keys; a chord, C major. Three white keys.</p>
<p>          He follows with a progression of chords along the key of C major, which mostly lies on the white key scale. He plays a song that is classic, simple, yet easy to listen. A song that he’s played often, frontline in his memory. His fingers work their way over the piano, hovering over the black keys, pressing into the whites. A mannerism very often rehearsed, refined over the years. He barely had to think as he played the music, a machine programmed to do so.</p>
<p>          And it allowed his thoughts to wander; and he found himself lost in a memory, equally as old as the time in which he’d been perfecting this classic song. A memory in which his brother had watched him play the song in the white keys, and had said with a slight chuckle, ever so charming: “Little Will, you don’t have to be scared of the black keys.”</p>
<p>          William, young and inexperienced, stared up at Rafael Hawkes with beady sapphire eyes. “But the black keys are hard to play,” he argued. His hands were still too tiny, his fingers too short to reach to the higher level of black keys. He was, indeed, scared of playing the black keys—scared to mess up the song he’d play.</p>
<p>          Rafael proceeded to put his hands over Will’s little ones, fingers resting on the black keys. Then, slowly, he began to play only on the black keys; in the scale of D♭ major. The song was, surprisingly, lighter than he’d expected. Usually when he makes a mistake and accidentally lands on a black key, the song turns sour and it sounds nothing near happy, the songs he liked to play. But Rafael was able to make the song sound merry, anyway.</p>
<p>          Then again, Rafael had always found ways to make everything better, by just being him. It was always Rafael over him, William in his shadow. Even if they were next to each other, even if Rafael had William’s hand in his, teaching him all his ways—he’d never be better than Rafael; his hand would always be under Rafael’s, and no matter how much he’d try to perfect his reign over the white keys, Rafael would still have reign over him. The beauty of the song played in the black keys would always be a level higher than the white’s. Black was William’s stumbling blocks—and Rafael has completely dominated the blacks, befriending the shadows and leaving him to deal with everything in the light. </p>
<p>          But there was nothing he could do, because his mother… to keep his mother alive, he had to keep the song going. He had to keep playing the lively melody, be the hope his mother had left to hang on to. He dared not play the melody in the darker keys, but he played his part to perfect the piece on the piano, where he already dominated. The white keys.</p>
<p>          He repeated the song, over and over again, making sure that there was not even a single flaw in the song.</p>
<p>
  <em>           He could not remember a time he played the piano with his emotions; a song poured from within the heart. </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="timestamp">that morning, 7 a.m.</span>
</p>
<p><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="caps">illiam was always grateful for the sun, with its rosy hue across the morning sky, or when it was seeping through his room.</span> He loved it when the sun poured through his window and hit his skin. Warm, like being hugged by the sun. He, too, had good memories with the sun. He pondered the golden days of his childhood, the time when he spent with his mother, graced by her warm smile that melts even the coldest winter. But today, the sky was dark and gloomy, the sunlight blocked by the gray clouds. There wasn’t an ounce of sunlight to light up the office. </p>
<p>          He was merely staring out of the window, but in his lethargy, he probably looked like he was glaring. It was funny considering that people usually glared at the burning sun, but he was glaring at the lack of it. Funny how the astronomical bodies were able to affect his emotions like so. </p>
<p>          Maybe they were right when they said the skies held their fates. </p>
<p>          When William was absorbed in his thoughts, he heard footsteps incoming. There, he saw a familiar face who looked even more exhausted than she had always been. Instead of only dark circles that were usually apparent in her face, her eyes were bloodshot, her hair disheveled, and the strides she took were much heavier than usual. She looked more dead than she has ever been. It made him wonder what could’ve happened to her last night. She was generally on the brink of exhaustion, but never to this extent. Tired, yes, but never so like this. </p>
<p>          Kym Ladell was right. It <em> had </em> been too long since the three of them spent their time outside of the office together. They had been too busy in their personal lives to spend it on each other. It was necessary, he knew. It would be nice to spend their time together again, just like the old times. A faint smile appeared on his face, but it quickly withered away. Of course he’d like to, but he knew that it would only deter his progress even further. He should not allow himself the luxury of a break. He should work harder, harder each day, for he’d fallen so behind to the point where his father had to be reminding him of past mistakes. </p>
<p>          A voice broke him out of his stupor. “Lieutenant, meet me in the office with Detective March in 5 minutes.” </p>
<p>          Hermann’s stern voice rang inside the silent office. The said person was standing on the door, his face sour. He cursed himself for having accidentally manifested Hermann, the source of all his current problems, through sheer thought. William nodded in response, not even thinking twice. “Yes sir,” he replied, a response so rehearsed, it was second nature to him. Lately everything he did seemed to have been second nature; programmed, unthought about, just doing it because… because that was who he <em> was</em>.</p>
<p>          Hermann stayed for a while at the door, his gaze turning a little somber when he scanned the whole office and stayed at Kym’s empty desk. However, it only took seconds for his gaze to turn into a glare as his eyes reached Lauren. Lauren, who was too tired to care, probably didn’t notice the hateful glare sent by Hermann. William wondered when Herman would stop loathing Lauren for her existence. He was grateful that, at the very least, Hermann didn’t seem to hate himself to such an extent. He didn’t want to imagine how much more work he’d have to do if so. William sighed when Hermann left their office. He needed to gather his thoughts before meeting him, because apparently, Hermann seems to be in a bad mood today. </p>
<p>          It wasn’t rare per se that Hermann called only certain officers to his office. He usually had meetings with them separately. Especially with his additional task to capture Lune, he and Kym would often be called into his office alone. (There was rarely a time where he wasn’t called in with Kym, he seemed to realize. Then again, they were the leaders of the patrol unit; they shared plenty of their workload with each other.) But today, when he called William and Detective March to his office, with his always grim expression planted on his face, William could somehow sense that something was wrong. It was like his gut was telling him that he was about to receive even worse news than he could imagine. He wasn’t sure why, for he had made sure that he finished paperwork before the deadline, and he even double checked everything before submitting it to Hermann. He just felt like something was <em> wrong</em>. And he wouldn’t have called Detective March if it was only for that minor thing. The thought of Lune flashed in his mind, that makes sense as to why Detective March; however, they hadn’t made significant moves recently. Besides, his task to capture Lune was to be done with Kym, who had yet to appear. Where was Kym anyway? Was the matter so pressing that Hermann thought William could catch Kym up about it on another time? Or did it not concern Kym at all?</p>
<p>          He took a quick look around the office before his eyes landed on Kym’s empty desk. The silence filling the air was suffocating, but he didn’t know why. <em> Should I apologize to her later for my outburst yesterday? </em> He mused, but thought better. The damage was done, and it wasn’t like he hadn’t meant his words. He could let the awkwardness simmer between them for a while, wait and make sure that he got it into Kym’s head that he needed to separate himself from her. Then maybe she would agree with him and let him go. He hoped she did, anyway. She was a dream he could never acquire. He dragged with heavy feet out of the office, towards Hermann’s office, a jumble of thoughts in his head.</p>
<p>          Nothing could have prepared William to hear what Hermann had to say. </p>
<p>          “I’m afraid to tell you that Sergeant Kym Ladell is no longer able to serve with us in the present.” </p>
<p>          His breathing hitched. Surely, Hermann didn’t mean it like that. It was too vague for William to make conclusions based on whatever Hermann was trying to tell him. “Did Ky—Sergeant Ladell resign from the position, sir?” But even as it came out of his own tongue it felt foreign, like something didn’t quite add up. She wouldn’t have resigned all of a sudden like that—then again, he recalled the way she seemed to have been practically pleading at him last night for them to hang out, as if their lives were about to end. So maybe, just maybe, Kym had been wanting for them to hang out because she wanted to announce this decision. William didn’t know her well enough to know if anything had been going on in her family that could’ve compelled her to make such a decision, if any… it made him realize how quite insensitive he had been with Kym, just how much there was that could be explored in their relationship.</p>
<p>          It was too late now. And perhaps he should’ve been grateful; he wasn’t sure whether he could let go of Kym, had they been any closer. </p>
<p>          Oh, how wrong he was.</p>
<p>          Detective March stayed quiet. It appeared that he caught on to the meaning of the sentence. He glanced towards William, to which William noted, was full of pity. <em> I can survive without Kym, </em> he thought stubbornly to himself.</p>
<p>          Oh, how terribly wrong he was.</p>
<p>          Hermann heaved a sigh, he pinched his temples with his fingers, trying to find a voice in himself. However rude this person was, he seemed to not be completely absent of a heart. Kym Ladell was a good sergeant, and everyone knew that. She was a great asset too, devoted to her job despite her peculiar way of thinking. It was a pity and a loss that the precinct will no longer be able to work with her. </p>
<p>          But Hermann rarely hesitated. He rarely struggled to get the words out of his mouth. William tried hard not to think too much about what it meant. </p>
<p>          But it was hard to ignore the truth when it was quite outrightly spoken in words.</p>
<p>          “Hawkes. They found her body near Greychapel this morning.” </p>
<p>          A second passed.</p>
<p>          And two.</p>
<p>          And another.</p>
<p>          Then William’s eyes widened slowly in surprise, taken aback by what Hermann had just said. They found a body. Her body? <em> Kym Ladell’s </em> body? Near Greychapel. Somehow, he could not comprehend yet what Hermann meant. Perhaps, he was still too appalled to understand that in fact the Sergeant was no longer alive. </p>
<p>          Taking his silence as a sign to explain, Hermann continued, “They found a body after hearing a gunshot, near the river in the 6th precinct. It was around 1 a.m. when they found the body. There were no signs of struggle on the body, meaning she had gone to Greychapel on her own will. Death by decapitation, head slashed so cleanly that it was clear as day the work of a professional.” Then, softly, in consideration, he said: “It was a quick death, Hawkes.”  </p>
<p><em>           Painless</em>, was what he meant. Like that made the fact that she was dead any better.</p>
<p>          William remained frozen in place, throat clogged up, too afraid to say something, to say anything; everything, maybe, had just been a dream. Maybe he’d just been imagining it. He wanted to say something, to retort back, to say that Hermann was wrong. Kym could not be possibly dead! She was just there, laughing and arguing with him last night. She—she was <em>too</em> <em>alive</em> the last time he saw her. And suddenly, it all came back to him. </p>
<p>          Memories of last night. </p>
<p>          He had shut her off. Snapped at her because she asked for his time. It wasn’t even a big deal, not until he unreasonably cut her off with his arrogance. He could’ve so politely refused—or even <em> agreed </em> with her, just for the sake of it. He should’ve just complied, the way he always did when with his father. He should’ve restrained himself, played nice, rather than succumbed into his frustration.</p>
<p>          It was a funny thing. The reason why he had to maintain his image as a Hawkes was because of his strict father, but the reason he was the way he is… was more because he <em> didn’t </em> want to be like the Hawkes <em> he </em> saw. His father was oppressive, and his brother was a runaway to the dark side. He <em> didn’t </em> want to be like those arrogant men who think they have control over everything, because he of all people knew how <em> little </em> of control one could be. But ultimately, he was just like his father; arrogant, all too-knowing, without a care about anything or anyone other than himself. Ultimately he was just like his brother, leaving those who needed him in a situation with no way out, leaving behind the people who mattered to soar up high. Perhaps, unknowingly, now he was far more similar than he’d like to admit. He had become a proper Hawkes. One who possessed power and authority. One who brought others to ruin.</p>
<p>          What had he become? He vowed to stay true to his path, that he would never stray off and overcome greed. He was, once again, reminded that his story was never his to tell. That he was restrained by the shackles of being a Hawkes. That he was through and through a Hawkes no matter what he’d try to do, a person of dignity and that one destined to become of authority.  </p>
<p>          Before William could wallow in his pitious thoughts, Hermann cleared his throat. William turned his gaze towards Hermann’s serious face, no longer filled with that split second of pity. </p>
<p>          “This is where I want you both to work on something. The work was too clean for it to be the work of an amateur.” William immediately understood what he was trying to say. It was Hermann, a person who took every chance to bring down something that does not go on his way. Hermann was still a bastard. At the end of the day, it all comes back to one thing. </p>
<p>          “This is definitely the work of Lune.”</p>
<p>          If William could groan, he would. He wanted to groan, wanted so bad to scream at him to stop with the Lune bullshit. Sure, Lune was a problem. But he’d <em> literally </em> just told them that Kym Ladell was dead. Did he <em> have </em> to bring everything back to business immediately?</p>
<p>          But maybe Hermann had a point. Maybe he was being soft in trying to just grieve for her loss—even though he hadn’t fully felt it. Maybe he didn’t have to believe in it now. Maybe he should focus his efforts into finding Lune, while Kym’s death hadn’t fully hit him yet. Maybe he should do this sooner than later because he <em> shouldn’t </em> let his emotions get in the way of his work.</p>
<p><em>           People die. </em>They were prepared for this when they signed up as officers. It was best to accept it as that, William thought to himself.</p>
<p>          “You can’t be serious,” March was quick to argue. “Why would Lune kill Kym Ladell all of a sudden? It’s not like Lune has even <em> killed </em> anyone before, and they’d been pretty inactive for a while now. Wouldn’t it be more possible if it were one of the Phantom Scythe assassins instead? The murder looks a lot like something the Purple Hyacinth would do, spare the lack of the flower.”</p>
<p>          Hermann shook his head, not quite bothering to address March’s completely valid argument. “I’ve always had my suspicions on Lune,” Hermann stated. “Hear me out. Lune has been inactive for a while, yes? They must be having some trouble trying to get information from the precinct—maybe because of our new archivist, I thank the gods for his presence—hence they needed an open spot to get someone in the precinct to do their dirty work. And Kym could have been doing her work, tracking a suspicious officer down from the precinct to Greychapel.” He eyed William pointedly, and William didn’t hesitate to give him back an icy glare. Clearly, he wasn’t in the mood for subtle accusations. “It was just the perfect opportunity for them! Lune knew that Sergeant Ladell was one of our best, and they <em> definitely </em> wanted to bring downfall towards our precinct. God, they <em> must </em> be captured immediately. Letting them run around the precinct is a mistake. Hawkes, you must capture them as fast as possible. March, you will now assist Hawkes with capturing Lune. I can’t trust anyone else to replace Ladell’s position. God knows how many rats we have in this precinct.” </p>
<p>          William Hawkes’s heart sank the moment he heard the word replaced. Replaced? No, no one could ever replace Kym. No one was as witty and keen as her. No matter how much she annoyed the living daylights out of him, she was particularly intelligent, the cogwheels in her mind turning in ways no one else’s brain works. She was simply a presence that will never be replaced. </p>
<p>          “Lune is truly a force to be reckoned with. Those troublemakers, I swear.” Hermann huffed in annoyance. “Don’t lose your focus, William Hawkes. You’re the lieutenant, and you shall act like it.” </p>
<p>          William could not raise his head towards Hermann. Succumbing himself towards his ego, his pride, his priorities, William could only reply, like always: “…Yes, sir.” </p>
<p>          It seemed like he couldn’t escape from his fate. His entire existence was solely identified as Lieutenant. And when he captures Lune, he’d be Colonel. It didn’t matter what his name was, not when he had the blood and name of Hawkes plastered on him wherever he went. William was not a free man, he could never be, for the only reason he was able to taste a sip of independence was when he was with Kym. And with Kym no longer beside him, the distance between freedom and William Hawkes became farther than everything. </p>
<p>          Detective March and William exited the Captain’s office after the dismissal. Detective March offered a pat on his shoulder, knowing that even though it would not fix anything, it at least provided some comfort and validation for his feelings. “Don’t take it to heart, Hawkes. You know how it is with Hermann. I’m truly sorry for your loss, I know you were close to Sergeant Ladell, and she was truly an exceptional human being.” </p>
<p>          William said nothing in response. March gave him a weary smile, trying to give hope, and yet it felt all too miserable. He then bid William goodbye, before returning to his own office. </p>
<p>          He was usually alone. But never in the precinct. He was never alone in the precinct, the Sergeant serving as an extension to him wherever he went, whatever he did.</p>
<p>          Though he was accustomed to loneliness, he had never felt so lonely before.</p>
<p> </p>
<p><span class="dropcap">H</span><span class="caps">ermann called the rest of the officers to the briefing room after his meeting with William and Detective March.</span> He informed them of the unfortunate news that befell one of their respected and skilled officers. Kym Ladell, the Sergeant the precinct loved and venerated in many ways, was murdered that night in Greychapel. Her funeral was to be held the day after.</p>
<p>          The moment Hermann announced the Sergeant’s death, Will felt like he lost a big part of himself. His heart, specifically, and the weight of everyone’s burden on him shackled him. It felt like someone was drowning him in a sea of doubts. He felt helpless, unable to do anything, even more so than the chains of his father on him.</p>
<p>          The mood of the police officers was even more grim than ever, and now there was no Kym Ladell herself to lighten the mood. They had just gone through the loss of Harvey Wood in the past month, and yet another one of their officers have fallen dead under a brutal blade. As heartbreaking as these news were, it was also increasingly curious; two murders of two seemingly innocent officers, both from the 11th precinct, both seemingly committed by an assassin. One was an event, two was coincidence. Three would be fate, or the lead to a pattern—but did they really have to wait for a third murder to figure what might have gone on?</p>
<p>          What had happened during midnight? Kym was always so unpredictable, one moment she was here, and the next, she would be all over the place. She was.. a warrior. She’d never backed out from a fight, and her marksman skills compared to no one. But she wasn’t a fool, she knows all too well than facing an enemy alone. Was it truly because they argued, that she had decided to go after Lune alone? Was he truly somehow the reason for her death?</p>
<p>          An image of Kym smiling, hand reached out to William emerged on his mind. It was of the day she’d told him he’d never restrained himself with her. He thought, then, of how he had done that last night; failed to restrain himself, and hurt her feelings in the process. She didn’t deserve this. It had been William’s fault. Like always. Kym, oh Kym, she was just trying to spend more of their time together, trying to reach out to William—had William accepted her request that night, would she still be alive this moment? William clutched his fist tightly. He didn’t know what to think.</p>
<p>
  <em>           What the hell happened to you, Kym?  </em>
</p>
<p>          Nausea overtook William. His stomach churned at the thought that he too, played a role in killing Kym. Bile rose to his throat, and suddenly it became hard to breath. No matter how small a role was, it was still a role. Regret, guilt, bitterness spread to his whole body cancerously. His heart tightened, unable to come to terms with the fact that Kym was dead. Kym Ladell, one of the only people who never expected anything from him, the one who let William be himself, the only one who can free him from the confinement of perfections. <em> Who else could he rely on from now on? </em> </p>
<p>          He was already so, so tired of everything. So tired of all that he had to do. So tired of all his feelings. But everyday, when he saw Kym, he got a break from his cage. He was able to let go of his emotions. He could let down the burden over his back, stop the pain from seeping into his bones day by day. He was tired. Kym was his best escape, and he had let her go in fear. </p>
<p>          Now she was truly gone.</p>
<p>          He was so tired, he felt like he could collapse in the briefing room right then and there. The other officers were as equally as distraught that they probably wouldn’t notice a body passed out. But after all, he had a reputation to uphold as the calm, clear headed Lieutenant. He needed to stay conscious, needed to keep doing his duties, and his additional mission to capture Lune.</p>
<p>
  <em>           Lune.  </em>
</p>
<p>          He stood up, walking his way out of the briefing room, <em> out </em>, away from eyes. The least he could use at such a tiring moment was peace, peace from everyone else’s mindless sympathy. He needed to think clearly, to find out what was behind this assassination. That was the only lead that he could start with. The assassination was too clean, no trace, no fingerprints, no nothing that could lead to a suspect. No motives either. William knew Kym, nobody could ever hate her without a reason, she was far too likable for a person to hate her. Despite her loud and noisy behaviors, she was responsible and careful with her words and actions. It wouldn’t murder of vengeance or anything like that, he was sure. Motive unclear, no suspect, no eyewitness. Despite racking his brain with everything, he still came up with nothing. </p>
<p>          Pathetic, really. He was a lieutenant, and still, he could not protect his subordinates. William was far too careless. Maybe, Lune was far more dangerous and important than he ever thought. Hermann’s accusation was not completely baseless at all. There was nothing on Kym, not a target on her back, she never involved herself in dangerous business, so, why did she die? As far as he was aware of, the only thing that touched the danger zone was only Lune business. William knew that Hermann perhaps has his own personal grudge towards Lune, but it makes sense. It was also not the case with the wrong place at the wrong time. Kym Ladell knew better than anyone, than to jump in fights she could not win. Despite being seemingly aloof, William knew that Kym Ladell was quite more intelligent and quick on her feet than anyone. She would definitely pull the trigger if there was something dangerous going on. Her marksmanship skills compared to no one, having spent her free time in the shooting range. Her precision was horrifyingly charming. And she was agile too, quick to her feet. Always jumping around the precinct. There wasn’t any scenario in which William imagined Kym would lose, not when she had her gun with her. </p>
<p>          Except... if she knew that the only choice she had was through death. Then it clicked. </p>
<p>          “Will? Are you here?” Lauren’s small voice woke him up from his thoughts. </p>
<p>          William had not noticed that he was sitting outside on the dark alleyway. He noticed the sky was dull, gray, devoid of any color. There wasn’t even a single spot of sunshine through the dense clouds, as if they were mourning with him. He chuckled to himself. What a joke. It appeared that he had been staring mindlessly into the distance. Lauren, perhaps, was worried over William being nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t like him to be gone from the office, but god be damned, he did deserve a break from everything. </p>
<p>          “Hey, Will. I was just thinking,” Lauren said hesitantly. She crouched moved toward him a little, closing the distance between the two of them. </p>
<p>          Too close. Suddenly, everything felt like chaos, his heart could not stop hammering, his palms sweaty, his breath short. Lauren must’ve known something. It wasn’t a coincidence that she looked like—like she’d gone through great shock, and had been crying all night. <em> That’s </em> what she looked like, he finally recognized. Sure, she had been one to always appear with her weary face on, but today she was more than that. Today, her face was filled with sorrow. </p>
<p>          Seeing William with no answer, Lauren moved closer. Closer and closer, too close, his mind supplied. Right then, everything became too real for him. The blood pounded in his ears; heart thudded in his chest. His vision blurred for a moment, as if he was looking through a fractured lens. Lauren increasingly grew worried over him. Not knowing what to do, she reached out towards William, only for her hands to be slapped away. “No, Lauren.”</p>
<p>          “Will, I—” Lauren started, surprised at his sudden outburst.</p>
<p>          William did not want to hear her out, however. He was tired of being consoled, <em> especially </em> not by Lauren. Not now. “No. Just—just stop whatever you’re doing right now. I have so many things on my plate and you’re here, just trying to—I don’t know!” William hissed. </p>
<p>          If he had taken in the expression on Lauren’s face, he would have stopped. But he didn’t. He hadn’t seen the hurt in her face, pushed away by her childhood best friend. She froze, but then her face contorted to an even sadder expression. </p>
<p>          For some reason he couldn’t understand, Lauren decided to keep trying. “Will, I’m here for you. I’m s—”</p>
<p>          “Did you know?” </p>
<p>          Lauren paused. “I’m sorry?” </p>
<p>          William clenched his jaw. Coldly, he asked, “Did you know that… that she died?” </p>
<p>          Lauren looked at him with surprise, as if she couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her reply was small, and raspy—but William noticed the second of thought, of <em> calculation</em>, in her response: “... Hermann told us all, Will. You were there.” </p>
<p>          William glared at her, disbelief apparent in his face. <em> There has to be something more. Something that could tell him about Kym’s death. </em>“No, Lauren. Before that.” Lauren’s breath hitched, startled by the sudden accusation. </p>
<p>          “I’m not stupid, Lauren. Not when you’re always out at night with your ‘boyfriend’ and endangering the whole city with your lune game. God, I tried so hard to cover your tracks, to stay oblivious to the fact that you, of all people, are lying to me, to—to Kym,” William whispered the last part. His heart felt so constricted. He knew he wasn’t supposed to say this to Lauren. Lauren, too, must have been grieving over the loss of her best friend. </p>
<p>          But he couldn’t quite care, because if he was right—and he was <em> sure </em> he was, then it was as much of their fault that she was dead, as much as it was his. If he captured Lauren as Lune, right then and there, at least it’d make up for <em> his </em> own mistake. “You know why? Because of <em> her</em>. And now it cost her, her life! What more do you want, Lauren? You know you’re playing a dangerous game, and yet you still continue, you know why? Because you’re selfish, because you only think about yourself! It is not for the better of the Ardhalis or for the better future. You’re just satisfying your curious needs. And the rest of us have to somehow fit towards this selfish behavior of yours! Lauren, seriously, stop acting like you’re better than the rest of us.” </p>
<p>          Lauren, who had initially been surprised at William’s abnormal reaction, was instead now lost in her own thoughts. He knew he must’ve somehow struck a nerve, hammering right on the nail by pointing out Lauren’s hypocritical intentions in being a cop. He was only saying the truth. There was no point in lying to her anyway, she could detect a lie faster than one could blink. Lauren, who had been trying to restrain herself as well, began welling up with tears.</p>
<p>          “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—” Lauren broke out into a choked sob. William—he was too tired to act like he even cared.</p>
<p>          Then, from the distance, William saw the shadowed figure of the precinct’s archivist, Kieran White, making his way towards them. William rolled his eyes, “Oh, come on. Now the boyfriend is coming to your defense.” </p>
<p>          Lauren turned to see what he meant, and immediately turned back to wipe her tears. She then stood up, turning to White and shaking his head. “Don’t bother, Kieran—”</p>
<p>          White let out a small scoff, smiling at her; for what, William couldn’t tell, but he could see the glaringly obvious care he has about Lauren. He wondered if he had ever given Kym a gaze so soft, if she had ever seen him give a smile so soft. He wished he had, but knowing the nature of their relationship, he doubted he ever did. “Actually, I’m not here for you, Officer,” White told her. He then turned his head to the Lieutenant himself, jutting his chin at him. “I’m here to talk to him.”</p>
<p>          Lauren squinted her eyes at him, wondering what business he could’ve had with the Lieutenant. William cocked his head, glaring at the archivist with a cynical look. “You too, White, you’re not innocent. Her blood is in your hands now.” </p>
<p>          Kieran White smirked, a smirk too cold to be human, and yet too vulnerable to be villain. He then looked back at Lauren, and said, “Let me have a moment with him, will you?” Lauren faltered, hesitant, but decided to agree with him, leaving without so much of a glance at William. She must’ve felt ashamed, must’ve lost her trust in him. He sighed upon the sight, knowing that he had severed another relationship, in order to maintain his facade.</p>
<p>          At this rate, he really just wished that she wouldn’t somehow end up dead as well.</p>
<p>          Kieran White didn’t bother sitting down next to William, deciding instead to look down at him. <em> As if mocking me with Kym’s death</em>, he thought insidiously. “I’m really sorry for your loss, Lieutenant.”</p>
<p>          “Cut it, White,” William deadpanned. “You’re the reason she’s dead.”</p>
<p>          “Give her some credit,” White retorted. “It was her decision. It was true that we were the cause of her death, but ultimately, she made the decision based on her judgment, with the wisdom she has.”</p>
<p>          He spat, “And what is ‘wisdom’ you talk about, White? What would make one want to drive herself to the face of death, if not for the fact that you guys were so irrevocably selfish, that you’d let people die for whatever cause you were fighting for?”</p>
<p>          Kieran White kept quiet for a while. Then, “A better humanity. The cause we’re fighting for? A better humanity.”</p>
<p>          William could hardly see how Kym dying to save them was for a better humanity. Nothing Lune had been doing improved humanity in any way. Bitterly, he scoffed, “And is she lesser of humanity that you thought it was adequate to sacrifice her life, instead of your own?”</p>
<p>          “We didn’t choose for her to be sacrificed,” White said quietly. “We didn’t know until she was killed.”</p>
<p>          “And she wouldn’t have been killed in the first place if it weren’t for you.” William stood up, shaking his head.</p>
<p>          “You mean, if we hadn’t told her.” White sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Sure, you can say it was our fault in that sense. But I could hardly say I’m sorry. She deserved to know the truth. Neither of her best friends have seemed to be very honest to her lately.”</p>
<p>          William’s gaze at him turned deadly. “You’re trying to blame this on me and Lauren, when clearly you’re the one who caused Lauren to do all these sins to begin with? When you’ve done more damage than we have by your presence?”</p>
<p>          Kieran White opened his mouth to say something, but upon seeing the Lieutenant in the eyes, seeing his tired face, he decided against it. The archivist let out a resigned sigh, exhaling through weary, futile lips. Maybe he, like Kym, had given up on convincing him. William could be one stubborn man himself, as it turned out. </p>
<p>          “Good luck on your Lieutenant duties and catching Lune, Hawkes, and don’t be so hard on Lauren; she was your friend, after all. Between the two of us, I’m the one with blood on my hands.” That was the last thing White said, before walking back inside the precinct. </p>
<p>          William’s lips curled with much distaste. How <em> dare </em> he, after everything, mock him with the knowledge that he had nothing that can be used against Lune’s identities? He was so bitter against the world, bitter at everything, and here he was, acting like everything was fine, like it was just another day. Like someone had not just died.</p>
<p>          But then again, Kym once reminded him that superheroes died too. That one day, their clock will stop working, just like everyone else. He, too, had forgotten about the fact that they were not invincible, death adjacent to their line of work. Who was he kidding anyway, when in fact, they were the ones most exposed to danger.<em> William, you’re so damn foolish</em>. In the end they were still human. Humans who experienced anguish and pain. They were not protected by their titles. Detectives, sergeant, lieutenants—they were just labels, it did not make them imperceptible to their enemies. </p>
<p>          He felt something wet rolling down his cheeks. The moment he raised his hands to his face, he realized that he was crying. Once the first tear broke free, the rest followed like a stream. He bit his lip, trying to contain the sorrow he felt. The air felt too thick to swallow, his breath short and hard. Gasping for air, trying hard not to drown. Inhale. exhale. </p>
<p><em>           God, Kym. Why did you leave me? </em> The sobs punched through, ripping through his bones, guts, and muscles. He clasped his shirt, <em> it hurts, </em> and he didn’t know how to make it stop. He clasped tighter, but everything was in vain. Nothing, no one could ever fix it better. From his mouth came a cry so raw, filled with waves of emotions flooding him. But there was no one there. William was alone. William lost Lauren to his selfishness, and Kym to time. He was clouded by his own judgement, too blinded to see the reality. Now it was too late for him. </p>
<p>          No matter what, everyone was bound to their time, and when it reaches zero, nothing you can do will reverse it. No matter how fast you run, or how strong you are, time compared to nothing. Remorse filled his heart, nothing holding him back from the agony he felt. His heart ached remembering Kym, remembering all the good memories they had, her silly smile, her boisterous laugh. She was the closest thing to happiness he ever experienced, ever since Rafael left and his mom fell sick and everything fell to despair.</p>
<p>          He should’ve known better. He should’ve known. He should’ve… he should’ve told her how she truly made him feel. He should’ve accepted her rare presence in her life, instead of pushing her away out of fear. He… he should’ve told her how much she really meant to him. </p>
<p>          He should’ve allowed himself to care for her fully, the way she deserved to be cared for.</p>
<p>          There are times when William wished that he could be free of the cycle that kept him as William Hawkes, the good-mannered lieutenant. Always bound by that same thing every time, he took in all the words that were said to him, keeping it in mind that that was how he should act and that was how he was supposed to say. Everything was done with a certain restraint, his thoughts completely forgotten on the back of his mind. It was as if all the rules were written in a manual on <em> How to act as William Hawkes</em>. However, the consequences of mastering the act of being William Hawkes the Lieutenant was forgetting how to be William again. And without a certain blue haired Sergeant named Kym Ladell reminding him to be himself again, William wasn’t so sure that he could be fine again. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span class="timestamp">that night, 11 p.m.</span>
</p>
<p><span class="dropcap">W</span><span class="caps">illiam hated the moon as much as he loved the sun.</span>  He hated how it dared steal the light from the sun and make it theirs. And yet, the glow of moonlight was not quite the same. Unlike the sun’s blinding whites and yellows, the moon’s light was much more silvery, blending much with the grays and shadows of the night. It was bizarre to think how silver light could play tricks on reality the way it does, meshing the day and night together as if it were one. </p>
<p>          William loved the sun, and hated every moment when it wasn’t up in the sky. He hated dark skies, hated the things that unfold during his nights; whether it was the laborious hours of catching up on work, the trembling hands due to the fifth coffee of the day, or the restless mind that haunted his sleep, nothing in the night came to him in peace. He hated the dark, in which he could not see things clearly, vision of the world obscured. Dark was black, and black was evil. He hated all things evil.</p>
<p>          And yet—what <em> was </em> evil? Was Lauren Sinclair evil, for having chosen to work as Lune, against the law, for wanting to save the world or whatever she really desired? Was she evil to be selfish, was she evil to have let her best friend die for her? Was she evil for having abandoned her best friend all this time, because she was too focused on this sole purpose? Was she evil for lying, for not trusting in her own best friends, even when Kym Ladell had been covering up for them all this time? Was Kieran White indeed evil, for having told her the plain truth? Was he evil for wanting a better humanity? He’d have admitted that he had blood on his hands, true, but was he truly evil if he wanted to fight for a better humanity, even risking his life to an extent for it?</p>
<p>          He begins playing the piano in the white keys, hands lingering over the scale of the whites—and yet, he played in A minor, a very depressing scale. The melody was beautiful, and yet his heart was heavy, his body rigid, unswaying to the music. It was unlike what he’d play. He was a trained pianist; he knew how to play various music in different scales, knew how to improvise out of his feelings. But it sounded foreign. At first, at least. </p>
<p>          As time went, he began to let himself go slowly, closing his eyes and revelling in the dark melody that represented his mood. His finger flew over the keys and sometimes he hit the wrong notes, because he could not see well under the faded moonlight. But because it was in minor, the difference was not as noticeable. He went on, ignoring the mistakes, instead accepting it as a part of the song.</p>
<p>          Playing the music, he realized that even when everything was white, even when he saw everything as good—nothing was good. The sun was gone, nothing was white, and nothing sounded bright in his ears.</p>
<p>          And even though his mother was almost always forefront in his mind, he failed to heed her mother’s advice when he played the last chord. He slammed his hand down, and while they hit the right notes, his hand was flat against the keys. His mother had always told him off for doing this. “When ending the piece, it’s especially pertinent to remain a good hand posture, curving the hand in such a way that only the fingertips touch the keys, so that the perfect amount of power can be exerted in the tone,” she had taught him long ago, on brighter days. “So that the song could end in the right way.”</p>
<p>          He couldn’t help but think, even though he’d done the wrong thing, the way he ended the song was so fitting to his mood. All he felt was the increasing burden in his heart. Ironic, given that Kym Ladell was one of his biggest causes of stress. </p>
<p>          He no longer knew what to believe. He used to think that the shadows delude—but even under the sun, black remained black. Bad remained constant; only white seemed to change. Was there anything, then, that wasn’t tainted with some extent of bad? Some extent of <em> wrong</em>? No matter what he was doing, it seemed to be wrong in some way. Whether it was relative to himself, relative to the law, relative to his parents, relative to his friends. Nothing seemed to be fully right—but he didn’t think it could go <em> this </em> wrong. </p>
<p>          He did not know what to believe, but he knew one thing for sure: the moon that conspires with the sun and the night so daringly, trying to mix the white and black in a color that was not gray—<em>that </em> was the anomaly. There could not be such a brightness that occurred in the dark; it could only be a trickery, resembling the sun when it was far from that. Kieran White and Lauren Sinclair had threatened the safety of Ardhalis, despite whatever their intentions were. They cannot preach to be on the good side with all the bad things they were doing. They cannot steal the light from the sun and pretend like it is theirs. They cannot take the life of Kym Ladell without paying the price.</p>
<p>          And maybe he had been selfish, had been willfully ignoring the nagging voice on the back of his mind, whatever was left of his morals, that were telling him to listen. Listen, perhaps, to what the two had to say, to find out <em> why </em> Kym would willingly sacrifice herself as they claimed she did. Maybe William had been selfish when he considered more his own feelings, his own grief upon the loss of her, rather than what she would’ve wanted. </p>
<p>          Because for broken souls such as himself, and Lauren Sinclair, and whoever had gone through such a loss in the past and had never been taught how to recover—they have no power, no other option but to care for themselves first and foremost. They cannot feel anything greater than the pain inflicted right in their hearts.</p>
<p>          And when he thought of the music he’d played, he thought of a song in disguise, a melancholic tune hidden among the white keys. </p>
<p>          Perhaps he was such a song; something wrong disguised in a facade of right. But, he decided, if that was what it’d take to do justice for Kym Ladell—if that was what it took to ease this burden, this <em> guilt </em> in his heart, if this was what it took for him to fix things, to finally give him some semblance of <em> peace</em>—then he’d do whatever it takes. Even if it meant sacrificing some of what he believed was <em> right </em> to do.</p>
<p>          For once, he had made a decision of his own, a decision belonging to William Hawkes, and not as the Lieutenant, not for what everyone else expected him to do. He’d act under the pretense that had already been built over the years, the image of the golden boy, the boy of the sun, the good ol’ William Hawkes. He’d use that pretense to do what he could, regardless of what it may lead to. He’d act, because that was what he was best at, after all. It may have been his wrongest decision yet—but in a world where wrong and right was so blurred, he couldn’t care less. </p>
<p>          He’d been too tired of caring, anyway.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>We will be back in a few days time. Until then, we will be in hiding.</p>
<p>Thank you for reading. &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. After The Dawn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It's too unfortunate that the words Kym Ladell have always wanted to say, ends up unsaid.</p><p><b>Trigger warning:</b> death.<br/>It's ironic we're putting the trigger warning here, but there's... a reason we do.</p>
          </blockquote><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There's <a href="https://youtu.be/uebwtiaBElo">a song</a> that goes in the middle of the story. We link it again just before the poem is written, if you want to listen as you read the poem. Or you can listen as you read the entire chapter, up to you.</p><p>Apologies in advanced for the amateur music-making, further apologies down below. But please do give it a listen :") Anyway, enjoy!</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em> If I had a few more seconds, a few more, just to say these words… </em>
</p><p><span class="dropcap">D</span> <span class="caps">eath is… an interesting feeling. </span></p><p>          The first thing you feel is pain. You’d think that, because it all happened so fast, a flash of the silver glint through my bare neck, that it would feel close to nothing. </p><p>          It isn’t so painless as it seems.</p><p>          Time is a tricky beast. It plays illusions in the mind, compressing and expanding according to the span of the emotions you feel in the moment. And the few seconds before death… it’s an interesting time span. Because in those last seconds, I think of <em> everything </em> , and I feel for <em> everyone</em>.</p><p>          The first I think of, of course, is my parents. My poor, old parents, too old to work long nights. My poor parents, who have gone through the heartbreak of losing their child once. And because of… of my lack of thought, I’ve left them completely alone. Heh. And here I thought I’d have to lose them too, one day. Here I thought <em> I'd </em>be the one left alone.</p><p>          It’s not like it’ll be the first time, anyway.</p><p>          Would they be proud of me, if they knew I died this way? Sacrificing my life for the better Ardhalis, well, hopefully it would come to that. Would this make me like some kind of a hero? Like the protagonists in those superheroes stories, who died in the middle of the battle. I’ve always been a fan of it, though it never really crossed my mind that I’d be like them. Like the superheroes who died on the job—then again, this isn’t <em> reeeally </em> part of my job. I mean to a certain extent, it is, I guess. Hermann, that old bastard, <em> did </em> task us to find Lune. And I <em> have </em> been following Lune, haven’t I? </p><p>          But also, it’s because of my other vow… the vow I made to keep you, Lauren, safe from harm. Perhaps in a sense, I’ve completed my duty. For as long as I lived, I made sure to prevent from risking your life for whatever this is you’re doing. Now I’m no longer alive, so I guess the vow doesn’t really apply, does it?</p><p>          But also, now that I’ve talked, argued, or… whatever you want to call it, o you and your… initially questionable partner, Kieran, I know that you’re not doing this <em> just </em> for your personal vendettas. I know you have greater reasons to be working together; that there has been a reason you trust each other more than you did me. I forgive you for that, by the way. I… I do believe, at the very least, that if you refrained it from us, there must be a reason why. And whatever that is, I trust that you must have good intentions. I know you trust me enough to not out you to Hermann already, because otherwise you wouldn’t have told me what you did. I guess I’m just a little too sad to tell you that… and now I’m too late. If I had more time… </p><p>          I hope, at the very least, that you can forgive me for being mad at you—I hope this sacrifice suffices as repayment. </p><p>          And Kieran White. <em>You.</em> Despite your admittedly good looks, I’ve always been suspicious of your timely presence in the precinct and your involvement in the grand scheme of things. And—<em>ha!</em>—I was right after all. You’ve got some nerve, you do, being <em>the</em> Purple Hyacinth and undercover as a measly archivist. I <em>cannot</em> believe. Yet somehow… you’ve certainly been interesting. I don’t need Lauren’s lie-detection fancy schmancy to tell that you’re definitely telling the truth the other day, that you’re fighting for a better Ardhalis. Not gonna lie, it was unexpected and <em>just a little...</em> okay, no, it was inspiring. I mean, save the fact that you’re a literal mass murderer, I’d have you crowned as King immediately. The Royals clearly hadn’t been dealing with the Phantom Scythe as well as Lune has. Would that also make Lauren your queen? <em>Haha</em>.</p><p>          I guess I never can find out how someone as moral, as intelligent as you are, happened to wind down the dreary path of life as an assassin. And I suppose, as terrifying as you are, you’re just as tormented as we are by that fact. That you can never revoke yourself and the things you’ve done. Maybe you’re doing this as some form of justification for yourself, I’d never know. Whatever your reasons are… I <em> hope </em> you do have good intentions, and I hope you use this opportunity to actually… do good for once, instead of bringing about fear. </p><p>          This may very well be your only chance, White.</p><p>          But enough about you. I don’t care much about you; I believe you know better of what to do than my dear friend Lauren. Lauren… I remember the first day I met you, very clearly in my mind, in those few last seconds, stretched for eternity. I’ve been thinking about it just hours before, after all. Perhaps I should thank… Ugh, <em> Sergeant Hawkes </em> for having led me to you. Ew. Anyway… since that day, I’ve made an amazing best friend, and I’m really glad for that. I care for you so much, especially because I know that you’re especially hard on yourself for no good reason, and you’re especially stubborn. I admire your grit in doing all things, but sometimes… sometimes I just wish you’d cut yourself some slack. It’s good to realize that sometimes you’re not the only one. You have people around you who you can trust, who can help you. It just takes a bit of wisdom to determine who those are. And I suppose, even though he’s a dodgy person himself, Kieran White does happen to be one of them. I hope that at least, you can rely on him after this, in terms of the Phantom Scythe, your pursuit of truth, and… and just as individuals. No one is designed to live alone, Lauren. I wish you can open your heart, once in a while. (Especially because the poor guy clearly likes you. Please, for once, open your <em> eyes </em>, Lauren!)</p><p>          And you should maybe talk to Will, one of these days.</p><p>          Ah, <em> Willame</em>. The last person I’d <em> ever </em> think about, yet it seems to be incredibly fitting. William, you’re literally the last person in my mind when I think of joy. You’re literally <em> never </em> fun, always burying your nose up the pile of paperwork you have. You’re weird because you don’t enjoy my humor. When you enter, somehow, your face always darkens, contrasting your stupid blond hair. <em> (Is that because of seeing me?) </em> You always find ways to argue against me, even though you know you’ll lose. You can’t admit that I’m a much better presence to be around just because you can’t take my jokes.</p><p>          Worst of all… you’re incredibly mean to me. You may not have realized it yet, but I <em> do </em> have feelings. I… heh, it’s probably too late to say this now, but… I don’t hate you. I never do. I...</p><p>          Whatever, it’s too late to say it anyway.</p><p>          It hurts, it really does. I didn’t know it would hurt this much. It’s not really the fact that you screamed at me, or that you refused my company. I assure you it’s not really that at all. It’s more that… that I mean less to you than I thought I do. I mean, here I thought I have a pretty loud presence. Apparently even that isn’t enough to break through the ever impenetrable barrier of The Great William Hawkes. I shouldn’t have expected any less, really. Heh.</p><p>          But that doesn’t matter; I would’ve lived with it anyway. Or maybe I would’ve kept trying, honestly. You’re just too good not to tease. But then again… when I see you my heart breaks for you. Even if you weren’t rude to me, I would’ve broken more if you had restrained yourself more, because when I see you that restrained I just know that you’re really not okay. And I <em> hate </em> that you won’t allow yourself to be helped by anyone, bearing the burden of all your responsibilities alone. You’re putting up walls that nobody can ever reach. You may not know this… but you’re not alone, Will. It’s okay to receive help. No one deserves so much weight upon their shoulders, not even you.</p><p>          You and Lauren, the both of you… you need to learn to be less stubborn, less hard on yourselves. Maybe that’s why you guys click so well, because you’re so similar. But you need each other to realize that you are one and the same, that you’re not alone in this. There are others who really care about you, support you,  only if you’d allow them to. I really wish that, with me gone, you guys will realize the importance of holding on to your friends, to actually put the effort in being friends and sharing your burdens on each other. </p><p>          But, in the end… in the end it comes down to this, I guess:</p><p>          I’m sorry.</p><p>          I’m sorry that I have to leave so early. I’m sorry that there isn’t enough time for me to apologize, to make amends, to tell you all how I really feel. I’m sorry that I can’t be there any longer if you need me, especially in such a dire time. I know my presence is not as important in your lives amongst all your personal pasts—but I’m sorry I couldn’t be of further help with my own experience of the past. I’m sorry I can’t show you what it’s like to enjoy a life after being plagued by so much trauma and loss. I’m sorry that I can’t help you deal with whatever’s to happen to Ardhalis, and I’m sorry I can’t be there with you all when a brighter Ardhalis greets you—or at least I hope that is what you achieve in the end. </p><p>          But in my last breaths, I still dare hope. I am Kym Ladell, after all, and all I’ve left is prayers for you to hear. I’ve done my part. And now, it is time for you to do yours. Prevent Ardhalis from further descending to its fall. I want to believe that in the end, the future will be bright, as unbelievable as that may be. I want to believe that there is still some hope, because Ardhalis has seen too much loss to bear witness to another tragedy. </p><p>          I want to believe that my death will not be for nothing—that even if you don’t hear my words when I’m alive, this last resort will compel you to <a href="https://youtu.be/uebwtiaBElo">hear</a> and heed the truth you so desperately need in your lives. </p><p><em> The dust of our old memories <br/></em> <em> reminds the hourglass that <br/></em> <em> we, too, once had our time together<br/></em> <em> through shadows and stories </em></p><p><em> Fading in the gray streets <br/></em> <em> all I wish is for you to forget me not <br/></em> <em> and shed those falling tears <br/></em> <em> So I can fly to where i belong </em></p><p><em> Perhaps it's the night that allows me to stay<br/></em> <em> In the midst of all the uncertainties<br/></em> <em> I’ll take my chances<br/></em> <em> To deliver my word<br/></em> <em> For another day has arrived in time  </em></p><p><em> When the sky falls and the stars crumble<br/></em> <em> There is no need to be scared <br/></em> <em> For I am here with you<br/></em> <em> As gentle as the wind <br/></em> <em> That carries the tune of the lullaby </em></p><p><em> Slowly the nightingale stops her song <br/></em> <em> and let silence fill the air <br/></em> <em> For her time has finally come to an end<br/></em> <em> and the clock reaches zero. </em></p><p><em> Her lonesome journey has reached the finale<br/></em> <em> The hour clock strikes twelve<br/></em> <em> and so she wished for those <br/></em> <em> who wept on the day she departs.  </em></p><p><em> Don’t lose your way <br/></em> <em> I’ll guide you with the melody <br/></em> <em> Close your eyes and listen closely to the song that I’m singing. <br/></em> <em> I’ll be your remedy,<br/></em> <em> Guiding you pass the blinding light </em></p><p><em> When the sky falls </em> <em> and the stars crumble<br/></em> <em> There is no need to be scared <br/></em> <em> For I am here with you<br/></em> <em> As gentle as the wind<br/>that carries the tune of the lullaby </em></p><p><em> When the sun rises, and morning comes again <br/></em> <em> Everything will be okay <br/></em> <em> The flowers will bloom, <br/></em> <em> And through a bird my voice will sing <br/></em> <em> “Spring has come again.”  </em></p><p>
  <em>The flowers will bloom, </em>
  <br/>
  <em> And through a bird my voice will sing <br/>“Spring has come again.” </em>
</p><p> </p><p><span class="dropcap">D</span> <span class="caps">eath was an interesting concept.</span></p><p>          Even though the seconds that preceded her death felt elongated, by the time it ended, she felt nothing. Her nerves powered off, and she was finally filled with the peace that Death offered as a greeting gift. There was nothing more that Death can offered—there was nothing after life ended. Nothing else; everything had finally come to an end for the soldier named Kym Ladell.</p><p>          The world went on for everyone else. Kym, like everyone else, was but a speck of dust in relation to the rest of the universe. But in relation to her neighbours, she was an entire star of herself; illuminating those around her with blinding intensity that the moment it died, it created such a contrast in everyone’s lives. Their lives were turned over in different ways, some for the better and others for worse, but they shared one commonality: their lives had to be lived on.</p><p>          And yet perhaps there was a reason Kym was so prepared to risk her life for the ones she loved. Perhaps there was a reason the gods have decided to call her first, before the others. Death was the end of her journey; the story that was her life finally concluded. Sometimes it may seem as abrupt—because who could predict the death of anyone? Anyone can die anytime, and even Kym Ladell herself, aside from that split second decision to shoot a few inches to the right of the Phantom Scythe members she saw, hadn’t been preparing to die that night. Even when she took the shot, she hadn’t been expecting to be killed from behind, in a way that was so unique, a death unlike any other, much like her own presence on earth.</p><p>          But Kym Ladell was an optimistic person, and she’d like to believe that there was a bigger reason for her presence in the grand scheme of things. That her death may have brought about a significant change in the world, and for the better, no matter how unlikely and superstitious that sounded. Although she had gone through her personal losses, her personal grief—through the time, she had also found her own healing, and learned to appreciate the beautiful things in life. Perhaps that was what she regrets most in her death—that she could no longer appreciate life, because no matter the hardships life had to offer, there was always meaning in life to appreciate, to admire, to <em> live </em> for.</p><p>          Because ultimately, there was a reason death was so feared; death’s one true purpose was to remind people that life had meaning. Life should not be taken for granted, as there was so much to learn in the world, yet so little time. Life was beautiful, and yet many fail to see it, so caught up in their own losses and forgetting that it could soon be their own fate. In the end, Kym Ladell had chosen death, in the hope that the people she cared for could see this truth that so little people seem to realize until they face death itself. She hoped that at least, even if it was too late for her to do anything—it wouldn’t be too late for anybody else.</p><p>
  <em>           And yet, what good does a dead woman’s prayer do? </em>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Lol y’all thought Kym was dead? Think again. </p><p>The song is written by Elle #2, and composed and sung by Elle #1. It’s not the best, because we’re just uni students trying to make it through <span class="ellie">and Garageband is a massive piece of shit</span>… but we hope you enjoyed it :D That last part may or may not have been Elle #1’s impulsive writing. But there is some good reason for it.</p><p>  <span class="ellie">Truth be told, I’m tired of angst. I’m especially tired of reading angst. Not because it makes me sad or anything. The more candid reason is that I don’t feel much from angst anymore. There’s lots of angst in this fandom, which I still read for two main reasons: excellent writing, and that’s… literally the only thing that exists around here.</span></p><p>  <span class="ellie">So why did we decide to pull through with this idea, when we could’ve just gone with fluff? We’re not doing this to be mean or because it’s the saddest outcome; we’re doing this because death is realistic, and while I personally don’t think Kym will die, not yet at least, Kym’s death does impact the other three most greatly, as opposed to any of the other three dying; and we wanted to show that death is more than just… death. It’s not just sad, it really ruins. We’re simply here to explore what might happen to these characters should death be introduced to their lives, once more for some.</span></p><p>  <span class="celle">There is nothing much to say for me, really. Death is a very sensitive topic, that I myself, haven’t experienced that much. It is always there, I know, but somehow I never really touched the topic of it. Perhaps it is because I hate the thought of leaving someone forever, or being left alone by the person I cared about. Whenever I watch a series that has a lot of deaths, I would always google search about who died and when because I don’t think I can handle it. I’m always so weak when it comes to death. </span></p><p>  <span class="celle">But then again, death is a part of life. Whether you like it or not, it would always be lurking in the corner. You simply can’t escape death. Except if you drink immortality potion or anything like that—pardon my randomness, I have been watching too much anime—So the only thing you can do... is just to enjoy life before it is all over. Embrace the fact that one day, you’re going to leave, and with that, you would be able to make the most of your life. That’s what reminds me of how to be alive. And that is why you should listen to Kym :) </span></p><p>These are just our opinions; and this chapter of Kym is also our interpretation of Kym. PLEASE KEEP IN MIND THAT THIS KYM IS NOT CANON, AND CANON KYM IS VERY MUCH ALIVE. (For now.) In that regard, we would like to add: please, cherish the people around you. You don’t know when is the last time you’ll possibly talk to the people you love. Also, please keep living, because there is still much in life you haven’t even explored, so much to do in life, and life is unbelievably shorter than you think. We love you all so, and we’re so sorry if we broke your heart somehow :”) We hope you did not feel like it’s a waste of time reading this entire fic and that you will heed our words, unlike these stupid idiots &lt;3 Until next time!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Epilogue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>The world does not wait for the broken to heal. Life goes on relentlessly.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span class="timestamp">three weeks later</span>
</p>
<p><span class="dropcap">S</span><span class="caps">ienna Taylor wondered how unlucky she must’ve been to have been admitted into the 11th precinct five months after she applied, only to lose two other officers to particularly brutal murders.</span> It hadn’t even been that long since they'd lost the adorable Harvey Wood to the Golden Viper venom, and soon they also had the Sergeant, Kym Ladell’s head, detached from the rest of her body. Call her paranoid, but since her old Sergeant’s funeral, she had been taking extra precautions on her way to and from work, making sure there weren’t bored Phantom Scythe members on her tail for some absurd reason. She didn’t exactly have a good reason to be paranoid at all, but if the two nicest officers he’d ever known could be killed off in such savage manners, then she could very well die similarly. So, she decided that all the extra precautions she took—the little details, like making sure that she always has a weapon with her, or looking back every once in a while to ensure that there is no one following here—were necessary, no matter how much it troubled her. Taylor wasn’t one to take risky chances, after all. </p>
<p>          Losing Harvey Wood was already quite the taxing experience, but losing the boisterous Kym Ladell was an entirely different thing. While it had been obvious the effects she brought about when in the precinct, it didn’t quite <em> hit </em> Taylor how much her absence actually affected the other officers. There was only one less human, and yet the office seemed completely devoid of life. The mood of the skies didn’t matter; whether it was blazing golden or brewing storms, everyone inside remained like a still painting from three weeks back, the day-to-day situation seemingly unchanged. Gray, everything became mundane and monotonous. Even the events that happened were like a sequence of acts rehearsed one too often. They were nothing more than actors performing the same act every day. She could probably predict what would go on in the office even if she wasn’t there. </p>
<p>          But another significant change that the Sergeant’s absence had brought about, aside from the stagnant, depressing mood of the patrol unit, was the lack of a Sergeant. This also meant that there were more things for the rest of the officers to handle, including Taylor herself. She’d always been a slow worker; determined, but slow, so she’d set a habit to get her work completed in time, by coming to the office in ungodly hours and using the silence to get as much done as possible.</p>
<p>          But silence in this case did not mean alone, because apparently she wasn’t the only one this idea. She thought 4 a.m. was a pretty early time to be in the precinct, and yet whenever she arrived, Lieutenant William Hawkes was always already hunched over his desk, working as diligently as ever. His face appeared to display all physical signs of exhaustion, as expected from one who came to work before 4 a.m. every day, save for his eyes. His eyes… They were equipped with a glint so powerful, a driving force within that was so powerful it shone even through his eyes, getting him through even his physiological limits. Taylor would have admired his dedication for work, if not for the fact that with each passing day, his body began to appear more broken in different days—and it seemed like the Lieutenant was simply ignoring them.</p>
<p>          When Taylor arrived that morning and saw the lack of coffee on his desk, she greeted him by offering a mug of coffee. She was admittedly surprised when he gave her a slight smile; forced, but he was still <em> trying </em> to keep that Precinct Prince facade of his. “That would be very appreciated, Ms. Taylor. Thank you for the offer.”</p>
<p>          “No worries, Lieutenant. You could definitely use some caffeine,” she replied amiably, before heading out to the break room, leaving him alone—and she, also alone. Their interactions would usually end there. </p>
<p>          The other thing she seemed to notice was that, aside from the Lieutenant being in the office in ungodly hours, the new archivist had also been coming early to work. Not 4 a.m. early, like she and the Lieutenant was, but still way earlier than necessary, especially for an archivist. Usually, a couple of hours after she grabbed her morning coffee, she’d feel the urge to go to the restroom. On the way to the restroom, she’d occasionally catch Kieran White entering the precinct. His condition was quite similar to the Lieutenant, and yet it varied in notable ways; while he seemed to be getting some sleep, at the very least, there seemed to be less light in his turquoise eyes, making him look just as tired as the Lieutenant. He seemed to be more reluctant in doing whatever he had to do, since the Sergeant’s death. She couldn’t really blame him; after the Sergeant’s death, just about everyone had begun to lose hope. It made her wonder what it was exactly that might have driven the Lieutenant to work so early in the morning and push through his physical setbacks.</p>
<p>          Though not so good at concealing her own emotions herself, Taylor could tell an act when she saw one. It seemed to be a common thing that the archivist and Lieutenant Hawkes shared; when she bumped into him in the hallways, it was quick for the weary archivist to put up a charming smile that swayed women off their feets. But she knew it was just an act among many, to try keep the precinct intact in the midst of despair. Not that it did much. It had been weeks, and every day it only worsened the mood if anything. All the smiles felt like imitations of the late Sergeant’s smiles, but nothing could really compare to the <em> realness </em>, the rawness of Kym Ladell’s enthusiasm.</p>
<p>          Nonetheless, Taylor appreciated the effort. She smiled back at the archivist, albeit weakly. “Morning, Mr. White,” she greeted.</p>
<p>          “Morning, Ms. Taylor. Catching up on paperwork early again?” he responded, making small talk cordially.</p>
<p>          “As always,” was her simple response, before he nodded in conclusion, and they headed their separate ways.</p>
<p>          Every single conversation she’d had with the people in the precinct, since Sergeant Ladell’s death, had been that way. Brief, scripted, meaningless. Truly, life had seemed to grow meaningless in her absence.</p>
<p>          But Taylor herself was one thing; she was the last officer to be hired in the precinct, so she got the least of the brunt of the deaths. Even so, she had felt its force, and for her it was already overwhelming. How much more would it be for the other officers, who had worked with her for months, even years? Certainly, when she saw Lauren Sinclair, she could never even begin to call her pain true pain—because unlike William Hawkes who seemed to still be able to keep himself composed, Lauren Sinclair was much, much more unhinged than one could imagine. She had always been scared of Lauren Sinclair, because she wasn’t necessarily the kindest-looking person around. Except nowadays, all she did was glare. It was impossible not to be scared of her.</p>
<p>          A notable thing about Lauren Sinclair was: she used to come early to the precinct, too, because it seemed like she had a similar idea of catching up on work early in the mornings. Nowadays, though, she seemed to be arriving just over the start of work hours. Even the secretary, Lila Desroses, who made a habit of arriving 15 minutes before work hours, would arrive before Lauren Sinclair everyday. The first few days after the funeral, Secretary Desroses had found herself surprised upon the lack of a certain grumpy red-headed officer in the office. Now, though, when she came, she seemed to have already gotten used to the sight of only the Lieutenant and Taylor herself, working quietly in their respective desks.</p>
<p>          Whenever Desroses would come in the room, Taylor made sure to greet her with the best version of a smile she could offer. The reason was simply that the secretary seemed to be the one person who tried her best in giving a decent smile, the last smile that could lighten the heavy hearts of the officers. She was one of the kindest people Taylor had ever met, truly—and occasionally she feared that Desroses, too, will have to encounter the same fate the two late officers did. There was no telling with the Phantom Scythe, especially not after the incident in the Prison Tower, where they’d sent the Purple Hyacinth to clean up the mess Lune had caused, and had murdered so many innocents along with it.</p>
<p>          The sight of Officer Sinclair began to perplex Taylor more, day by day. Her late-by-a-few-minutes arrival itself was already very uncharacteristic of her, and she’d been expecting Sinclair to be late because she’d run into congestion in the streets, or because of some obstacle that held her back. She did look like a mess when she came in the office, but she didn’t seem like she was rushing at all. It was as if she didn’t care anymore. Her routine would always be repetitious, to the point where Taylor memorized the details. It always started with her walking languidly towards her desk, actively avoiding the sight of the Sergeant’s empty desk if she could—it only lasted so long; at one point during the day, her eyes would start wandering at it, her gaze lingers, getting lost in her thoughts, until something snapped her back to reality. If Lieutenant Hawkes’ exhaustion was clear on his face, Officer Sinclair’s was even more so, as if she was practically screaming the words, “I’m tired, leave me alone.” But similarly to the Lieutenant, her gaze was filled with much energy—conducted through a particularly sharp glare—that one might think she wasn’t tired at all. Her golden eyes roared like lightning, zapping anyone who even so much as dared to look at her. Taylor made it a habit of keeping her head bowed down, looking at the officer through her eyelids, so as to make little eye contact that could scare her in ways unimaginable.</p>
<p>          She wondered, though, what was up with this tardiness of hers. The bad mood, she completely understood; it was her <em> best friend </em> after all who had been murdered. (She wasn’t so surprised that the red-haired officer wasn’t more sad and devastated than she was mad; the only thing that seemed to be coursing her veins at this point seemed to be wrath.) But the fact that she seemed to be arriving at the precinct late and leaving as early as possible, that she took as many bathroom breaks as she could, that she took as much time in patrol sessions… was it that maybe, the officer was trying to avoid being in the literal room as much as possible? Maybe, because the Sergeant’s desk was still there, empty, untouched—the way it was before she’d died. It was funny, she thought, how the absence of something felt like even bigger of a presence than something that <em> was </em> there and tangible. </p>
<p>          Truth be told, Taylor herself hated being in the office during work hours—it was one of the reasons as well that she decided to begin working in the office way early. When it was work hours, the office was quiet as dead and so tense that she often found herself filling her head with as much loud thoughts as she could, distracting herself from the tension, and from her work. The silence was beginning to get too loud to her liking. She couldn’t help thinking about the other officers, and how each one was coping since Sergeant Ladell’s death. There was barely any talk anymore, aside from Secretary Desroses talking with the Lieutenant about paperwork, or the archivist coming to collect the paperwork. Even Captain Hermann hadn’t given them direct orders in a while now, only handing the list of papers to work on through the archivist, or calling the Lieutenant alone. She occasionally wondered why the latter kept happening, because the Lieutenant never gave them much orders to do anything, either. </p>
<p>          None of the officers had much to say to each other anymore. The resident grumpy cat, Lukas Randall, was originally a silent person, and only Kym Ladell seemed to talk to him out of no reason. Now that she was gone, though, he had even less of a reason to speak. Lauren Sinclair used to speak with the other officers comfortably, because she was a person who <em> was </em> kind and actually enjoyed talking to people. She even used to make jokes, especially when with her best friends. But now, of course, she barely spoke to anyone, always seemingly lost in her own sea of thoughts. Perhaps, though, what seemed to surprise Taylor the most was that Sinclair was also no longer talking to the Lieutenant. She’d seen her talk more with the <em> archivist </em> than with the Lieutenant—and she didn't even have a <em> good </em> reason to be talking to an archivist. She knew that the two were close before, even heard a rumor or two that they had been lovers once, <em> ridiculous, </em>she knew, especially with the presence of Kym Ladell in the trio, but with the way they acted now, strangers seemed to be a fitting word to describe them. With few glances and the absence of greetings thrown to each other, she could practically see the wall between the two. Was the death of the Sergeant the reason why they stopped talking?</p>
<p>          That day, though, she found the answer to that curiosity. She had been needing a break from the tension in the room, so she had gotten out of the building to get some fresh air. She was walking when she overheard an interesting conversation from the archives, and upon listening for a while, she recognized the voices; it was in fact, belonging to Officer Sinclair and Archivist White.</p>
<p>          “Lauren, stop acting like a kid. You have a job to do,” the archivist groaned, sounding tired of Sinclair’s apparently childish antics.</p>
<p>          “I’m not being childish, I’m being efficient,” she argued, sounding frantic and rushed. “We have so much to do and so little time.”</p>
<p>          Kieran was stern when he said, “Listen, <em> your </em> job is to make sure you keep your job solid. I’ll handle this part as it’s already within my reach anyway. You being here would only risk <em> both </em> our jobs; our real life jobs and our plan, so if you really want this to work you need to stop being stubborn and actually finish your paperwork in time and in good quality.”</p>
<p>          “You’ve had full access to the archives for, what, how many weeks? And you <em> still </em> hadn’t found anything. If I help you—”</p>
<p>          “Lauren, you’re smart, but don’t underestimate your old friend. He’ll figure out what you’ve been doing, and that’ll be all the evidence he needs to turn you in. Now get back there before Hermann starts looking for you again and I have to cover for you again.”</p>
<p>          Taylor wasn’t the most intellectually capable officer, not by far, but it didn’t take her more than ten brain cells to piece what was going on. If they were snooping around the archives, afraid of being caught, it could only mean one of two things: they were spies for the Phantom Scythe, or they were Lune. Lune had been inactive for a while—but she suspected that they could be working under the radar ever since the Prison Tower incident. And it made more sense if they were Lune; they were looking for a certain information, and they were running out of time. Well, she certainly wouldn’t have imagined that the ever serious and just Lauren Sinclair could have been a member of Lune. Then again, when she thought about it, what Lune had been doing seemed to be in the name of justice, even if they had breached the security of the APD, which is breaking the law. Sinclair herself <em> did </em> seem like the person to do what it takes to fight for justice, especially against the Phantom Scythe—she heard that was what had gotten the ex-Detective to be demoted in the first place, after all—so she supposed she shouldn’t be too surprised.</p>
<p>          And though Taylor had sworn herself to the law, to justice, and to the APD—she was interested to see where this could potentially lead. She didn’t fully believe, after all, that Lune was doing <em> wrong</em>—wrong was one thing, but she did believe some measures <em> had </em> to be taken. Change required sacrifices, and Lune did exactly that, by endangering themselves into an intricate plot written by the Leader of Phantom Scythe. So she headed back inside her office, pretending as if she hadn’t witnessed anything.</p>
<p>          Time flew as she worked on paper by paper, and soon the sun was beginning to set through the window. Lauren Sinclair was, as she had come to expect, quick to leave the area. Now, though, it occurred to her that perhaps she was spending less time in the office so she had more time to do her Lune mission. Taylor herself was next to leave, but unlike Sinclair who seemed to rush her way home, she took her time on the way home, enjoying whatever bout of life she could capture from her surroundings; the sunset, after all, was a pretty sight to see.</p>
<p>          She was surprised, though, when she felt the presence of a William Hawkes near her, also already having left office. “Well, this is certainly a surprise,” Taylor commented lightly, even if she knew it wouldn’t have much of an effect on the blond boy’s seemingly stagnant mood. “Never thought you’d be going off work this early.”</p>
<p>          “Ah,” he chuckled lightly in response, his eyes frozen the way it was. “I have dinner to attend to.”</p>
<p>          “A family dinner?”</p>
<p>          His face darkened, but he didn’t say much about it. “No, a date of sorts.”</p>
<p>          This caused Taylor to take a good look at the Lieutenant. She’d always thought— “I thought—”</p>
<p>          “I did love her,” Hawkes said plainly, as if he knew what she was going to say. Taylor blinked at this, but he did not spare her a glance. “I still do,” he said, with so little emotion it was hard to believe he meant his words—and yet, she could feel that he was telling the truth. He was just… so broken that it sounded so much like a lie. </p>
<p>          “So why…” </p>
<p>          She was scared to pry, but the Lieutenant was nice enough to humor her. “There is little I can do when it comes to major life decisions, no matter that it’s my own life,” he told her honestly. “However…”</p>
<p>          His steps faltered into a stop, and she stopped to look at him. He was still not looking at her, gaze far off somewhere that did not exist in the tangible reality. “There is some I can do, in that little area of control I have, and I’ll make sure I don’t let that waste that chance.”</p>
<p>          “And… what are you going to do?”</p>
<p>          “I’ll make sure that those who are responsible for her death will be held accountable,” he spoke with such resolve, it was hard to believe that this man was lacking sleep and not in his most conscious mind. “It’s the least I can do for her.” He was probably more awake than ever, and while she wondered upon the physiological probabilities of this, she was more worried about the words he’d said.</p>
<p>          It seemed to click, then, in her, just as he had resumed walking away, off to the direction of his family house, leaving her alone. What had happened, when Kym Ladell had died, was that what once was a group of three friends, had been broken and pushed into two strongly opposite poles: Lauren Sinclair, as part of Lune, prepared to do whatever it takes to bring down the Phantom Scythe from what they took from her, even if it meant defying the law; and William Hawkes, the Lieutenant forced under his role, using whatever power he was granted to incarcerate Lune, for he believed that was the reason for him having lost Kym Ladell. A friendship that had been built over a decade, destroyed by the death of a common cherished friend. <em> Two broken souls</em>, already broken over their losses, forced to face more loss than they already had, and utterly destroying whatever was left of their sense of humanity.</p>
<p>          Sienna Taylor stood still in the place she had stopped, and watched the tree that was just beginning to grow some leaves. She watched as a nightingale flew down to a branch and sat atop it, before beginning to sing a melody so light. She watched, immersed in the brown feathers of the bird, gleaming under the orange hues of the sun rays. She took a step closer to the tree, wanting to capture its beautiful essence;</p>
<p>          and she took another step;</p>
<p>          and the nightingale closed her beak.</p>
<p>          Taylor stopped, and wondered whether she’d done something wrong, wishing the little songbird would resume her tune. People didn’t seem to notice the nightingale’s melodies, not until it stopped singing. Perhaps it was too late. They remembered how the song sounded, but could no longer sing it.</p>
<p>          Taylor watched sadly as the nightingale departed into the night, wondering of how piteous it was, that they’d decided to ignore her pleas, instead lamenting for a loss that wouldn't have been, if only they had decided to <em> listen</em>.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Hi! Oh my goodness, it is finally the end of Silent Nightingale! Thank you for reading our baby until the end. It has been a wonderful journey with you all, really. We are really grateful for every single one of you, and super thankful for all your feedback. Although it is the end of Silent Nightingale, you’ll still see us around! </p>
<p>  <span class="celle">I’m never really online on discord and ig, but I promise I’ll be online more often now that school year is ending! Do look forward to kywi fluff fics to soothe your heart :) I have a lot in my mind, I just lack the will to write it :D Don’t worry, Elle #1 is making sure that I will write them. </span></p>
<p>  <span class="ellie">Unlike Elle #2, I don’t have a life, so I’ll be literally everywhere, you’ll never not see my name &lt;3 In relation to that, I’ll probably post about 10 more fics over the holidays because I don’t think twice before posting (Elle #2 says I’m majoring in Lauki and she’s not wrong)—but I’ll make sure to read all the completed fics before I post anything, so you might not see me for a while. But again, I will be around in every social media, so you can find me anywhere! </span></p>
<p>Again, we’re very thankful for accompanying us through this journey! We hope we didn’t traumatize you too much or disappoint you in any way, and we hope you remember that THIS IS BY NO MEANS CANON AND KYM IS VERY MUCH ALIVE &lt;3 Stan Kym Ladell, stan Soph and Eph for creating this amazing webtoon, and we stan you all for being amazing readers and an amazing fandom. Have a nice day wherever you are, and do leave us your honest thoughts about this fic and help us improve in our writing so that one day we come back with a better fic (and hopeful one that won’t break your hearts!) ❤️ </p>
<p> </p>
<p>… if you’re still here, random fun fact: Sienna Taylor’s name… was originally Melon Nowater. Because a watermelon without water is… melon no water. Elle #1 is high when she wrote this.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>All characters of Purple Hyacinth belong to <a href="https://www.instagram.com/deadsophism/?hl=en">Sophism</a> and <a href="https://www.instagram.com/ephemerys_ph/?hl=en">Ephemerys</a>.</p><p>
  <a href="https://www.webtoons.com/en/mystery/purple-hyacinth/list?title_no=1621&amp;page=1">Read Purple Hyacinth on Webtoons</a>
</p><p>
  <a href="https://discord.gg/bV2JQSg">Official Purple Hyacinth Discord</a>
</p><p>Follow us on instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/pigeonsatdawn">pigeonsatdawn</a>, <a href="https://www.instagram.com/artemiseye">elle_rain</a></p><p>Comments and kudos are always appreciated!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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